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SEEING  EUROP: 


alifornia 

jional 

ility 


EDITED  BY 
KANCIS  W.  HALSEY 


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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 


WILLIAM  P.  WREDEN 


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SEEING  EUROPE 

WITH  FAMOUS 
AUTHORS 


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MSB. 


SELECTED   AND    EDITED 

WITH 
IXTRODUCTIOXS,    ETC. 


FRANCIS   W.   HALSEY 

Editor  of  "Great  Epochs  in  American  History" 

Associate  Editor  of  "The    Worlds  Famous    Orations' 

and  of  "The  Best  of  the  World's  Classics,"  etc. 


IN   TEN 

VOLUMES 

ILLUSTRATED 


Vol.  I 

GREAT      BRITAIN     AND      IRELAND 
Part  One 


FUNK    &    WAGNALLS    COMPANY 

NEW  YORK   AND   LONDON 


Copyright,   1914,  by 
FUNK  &  WAGNALLS  COMPANY 

[Priitfcd  i)i   the  Vinted  States  of  Americal 

I 


■« 

vj 

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Ml'^< 

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GENERAL 

INTROI 

=t: 

A  two-fold  purpose  has  been  kept  in  view  dar- 
ing the  preparation  of  these  volumes — on  the  one 
hand,  to  refresh  the  memories  and,  if  possible,  to 
enlarge  the  knowledge,  of  readers  who  have  already 
visited  Europe;  on  the  other,  to  provide  something 
in  the  nature  of  a  substitute  for  those  who  have 
not  yet  done  so,  and  to  inspire  them  with  new  and 
stronger  ambitions  to  make  the  trip. 

Readers  of  the  first  class  will  perhaps  find  matter 
here  which  is  new  to  them — at  least  some  of  it; 
and  in  any  case  should  not  regret  an  opportunity 
again  to  see  standard  descriptions  of  world-famed 
scenes  and  historic  monuments.  Of  the  other 
class,  it  may  be  said  that,  in  any  profitable  trip  to 
Europe,  an  indispensable  thing  is  to  go  there  pos- 
sest  of  a  large  stock  of  historical  knowledge,  not 
to  say  with  some  distinct  understanding  of  the  pro- 
found significance  to  our  American  civilization, 
past,  present,  and  future,  of  the  things  to  be  seen 
there.  As  has  so  often  been  said,  one  finds  in 
Europe  what  one  takes  there — that  is,  we  recog- 
nize there  exactly  those  things  which  we  have 
learned  to  understand  at  home.  Without  an 
equipment  of  this  kind,  the  trip  will  mean  little 

Vol.  I  J  -.   jp     .vv 


641582 


GENERAL  INTRODUCTION 


more  than  a  sea-voyage,  good  or  bad,  a  few  rides 
on  railroads  somewhat  different  from  our  own, 
meals  and  beds  in  hotels  not  quite  like  ours,  and 
opportunities  to  shop  in  places  where  a  few  real 
novelties  may  be  found  if  one  searches  for  them 
long  enough, 

No  sooner  has  an  American  tourist  found  him- 
self on  board  a  ship,  bound  for  Europe,  than  he  is 
conscious  of  a  social  system  quite  unlike  the  one 
in  which  he  was  born  and  reared.  On  French  ships 
he  may  well  think  himself  already  in  France  The 
manners  of  sailors,  no  less  than  those  of  officers, 
proclaim  it,  the  furniture  proclaims  it,  and  so  do 
woodwork,  wall  decorations,  the  dinner  gong 
(which  seems  to  have  come  out  of  a  chateau  in 
old  Touraine),  and  the  free  wine  at  every  meal. 
The  same  is  quite  as  true  of  ships  bound  for 
English  and  German  ports;  on  these  are  splendid 
order,  sober  taste,  efficiency  in  servants,  and  calls 
for  dinner  that  start  reminiscences  of  hunting 
horns. 

The  order  and  system  impress  one  everywhere  on 
these  shii)s.  Things  are  all  in  their  proper  place, 
employees  are  at  their  proper  posts,  doing  their 
work,    or   alert   to    do    it    when    the    need    comes. 


GENERAL   INTRODUCTION 


Here  the  utmost  quiet  prevails.  Each  part  of  the 
great  organization  is  so  well  adjusted  to  other 
parts,  that  the  system  operates  noiselessly,  with- 
out confusion,  and  with  never  a  failure  of  co- 
operation at  any  point.  So  long  as  the  voyage 
lasts,  impressions  of  a  perfected  system  drive 
themselves  into  one's  consciousness. 

After  one  goes  ashore,  and  as  long  as  he  re- 
mains in  Europe,  that  well  ordered  state  will  im- 
press, delight  and  comfort  him.  Possibly  he  will 
contrast  it  with  his  own  country's  more  hurried, 
less  firmly  controlled  ways,  but  once  he  reflects 
on  causes,  he  will  perceive  that  the  ways  of  Europe 
are  products  of  a  civilization  long  since  settled, 
and  already  ancient,  while  the  hurried  and  more 
thoughtless  methods  at  home  are  concomitants  of 
a  civilization  still  too  young,  too  ambitious,  and 
too  successful  to  bear  the  curbs  and  restraints 
which  make  good  manners  and  good  order  possible 
among  all  classes.  It  is  from  fine  examples  in 
these  social  matters,  no  less  than  from  visits  to 
historic  places,  that  the  observing  and  thought- 
ful tourist  derives  benefit  from  a  European  tour. 

The  literature  of  travel  in  Europe  makes  in  it- 
self a  considerable  librarv.     Those  who  have  con- 


GENERAL   INTRODUCTION 


tributed  to  it  are,  in  literary  quality,  of  many 
kinds  and  various  degrees  of  excellence.  It  is 
not  now  so  true  as  it  once  was  that  our  best  wri- 
ters write  for  the  benefit  of  tourists.  If  they  do, 
it  is  to  compile  guide-books  and  describe  auto- 
mobile trips.  In  any  search  for  adequate  de- 
scriptions of  scenes  and  places,  we  can  not  long 
depend  on  present-day  writers,  but  must  hark 
back  to  those  of  the  last  century.  There  we  shall 
find  Washington  Irving's  pen  busily  at  work  for 
us,  and  the  pens  of  others,  who  make  up  a  noble 
company.  The  A\Titings  of  these  are  still  fresh 
and  they  fit  our  purposes  as  no  others  do. 

Fortunately  for  us,  the  things  in  Europe  that 
really  count  for  the  cultivated  traveler  do  not 
change  with  the  passing  of  years  or  centuries. 
The  experience  which  Goethe  bad  in  visiting  the 
crater  of  Vesuvius  in  17S7  is  just  about  such  as 
an  American  from  Kansas  City,  or  Cripple  Creek, 
would  have  in  1914.  In  the  old  Papal  Palace  of 
Avignon,  Dickens,  seventy  years  ago,  saw  essen- 
tially the  same  things  that  a  keen-eyed  American 
tourist  of  to-day  would  see.  When  Irving,  more 
than  a  century  ago,  made  his  famous  pilgrimage 
to  Westminster  Abbey,  he  saw  about  everything 


GENERAL   INTRODUCTION 


that  a  pilgrim  from  Oklahoma  would  see  to-day. 
It  is  believed  that  these  volumes,  alike  in  their 
form  and  contents,  present  a  mass  of  selected 
literature  such  as  has  not  been  before  offered  to 
readers  at  one  time  and  in  one  place. 

Francis  W.  Halsey. 

INTRODUCTION  TO  VOLS.  I  AND  II 
Great  Britain  and  Ireland 

The  tourist  who  has  embarked  for  the  British 
Isles  lands  usually  at  Liverpool,  Fishguard,  or  Ply- 
mouth, whence  a  special  steamer-train  takes  him 
in  a  few  hours  to  London.  In  landing  at  Ply- 
mouth, he  has  passed,  outside  the  harbor,  Eddy- 
stone,  most  famous  of  lighthouses,  and  has  seen 
waters  in  which  Drake  overthrew  the  Armada  of 
Philip   IL 

Once  the  tourist  leaves  the  ship  he  is  conscious 
of  a  new  environment.  Aboard  the  tender  (if 
there  be  one)  he  will  feel  this,  in  the  custom  house 
formalities,  when  riding  on  the  steamer-train,  on 
stepping  to  the  station  platform  at  his  destination, 
when  riding  in  the  tidy  taxicab,  at  the  door  and 
in  the  office  of  his  hotel,  in  his  well-ordered  bed- 
room,  and   at   his  initial  meal.     First  of   all,  he 


INTRODUCTION 


will  appreciate  the  tranquility,  the  unobtrusive- 
ness,  the  complete  efficiency,  with  which  service  is 
rendered  him  by  those  employed  to  render  it. 

When  Lord  Nelson,  before  beginning  the  battle 
of  Trafalgar,  said  to  his  officers  and  sailors  that 
England  expected  "every  man  to  do  his  duty,"  the 
remark  was  merely  one  of  friendly  encouragement 
and  sympathy,  rather  than  of  stern  discipline,  be- 
cause every  man  on  board  that  fleet  of  ships  al- 
ready expected  to  do  his  duty.  Life  in  England 
is  a  school  in  which  doing  one's  duty  becomes  a 
fundamental  condition  of  staying  "in  the  game." 
Not  alone  sailors  and  soldiers  know  this,  and  adjust 
their  lives  to  it,  but  all  classes  of  public  and  domes- 
tic servants — indeed,  all  men  are  subject  to  it, 
whether  servants  or  barristers,  lawmakers  or  kings. 

Emerging  from  his  hotel  for  a  walk  in  the  street, 
the  tourist,  even  tho  his  visit  be  not  the  first,  will 
note  the  ancient  look  of  things.  Here  are  build- 
ings that  have  survived  for  two,  or  even  five,  hun- 
dred years,  and  yet  they  are  still  found  fit  for  the 
purposes  to  which  they  are  put.  Few  buildings 
are  tall,  the  "skyscraper"  being  undiscover- 
able.  On  great  and  crowded  thoroughfares 
one  may  find  buildings  in  plenty  that  have  only 


INTRODUCTION 


two,  or  at  most  three,  stories,  and  their  windows 
small,  with  panes  of  glass  scarcely  more  than  eight 
by  ten.  The  great  wall  mass  and  dome  of  St. 
Paul's,  the  roof  and  towers  of  Westminster  Abbey, 
unlike  the  lone  spire  of  old  Trinity  in  New  York, 
still  rise  above  all  the  buildings  around  them 
as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach,  just  about  as  they  did 
in  the  days  of  Sir  Christopher  Wren. 

Leaving  a  great  thoroughfare  for  a  side  street, 
a  stone's  throw  may  bring  one  to  a  friend's  office, 
in  one  of  those  little  squares  so  common  in  the 
older  parts  of  London.  How  ancient  all  thing's 
here  may  seem  to  him,  the  very  street  doorway  an 
antiquity,  and  so  the  fireplace  within,  the  hinges 
and  handles  of  the  doors.  From  some  upper  rear 
window  he  may  look  out  on  an  extension  roof  of 
solid  lead,  that  has  survived,  sound  and  good,  after 
the  storms  of  several  generations,  and  beyond  may 
look  into  an  ancient  burial  ground,  or  down  upon 
the  grass-plots  and  ample  walks  around  a  church 
(perchance  the  Temple  Church),  and  again  may 
see  below  him  the  tomb  of  Oliver  Goldsmith. 

In  America  we  look  for  antiquities  to  Boston, 
vv-ith  her  Long  Wharf,  or  Faneuil  Hall;  to  New 
York,  with  her  Fraunces   Tavern  and  Van  Cort- 


INTRODUCTION 


landt  Manor  House;  to  Jamestown  with  her  lone, 
crumbling  church  tower;  to  the  Pacific  coast  mth 
her  Franciscan  mission  houses;  to  St.  Augustine 
with  her  Spanish  gates;  but  all  these  are  young 
and  blushing  things  compared  with  the  historic 
places  of  the  British  Isles.  None  of  them,  save 
one,  is  of  greater  age  than  a  century  and  a  half. 
Even  the  exception  (St.  Augustine)  is  a  child  in 
arms  compared  with  Westminster  Hall,  the  Tower 
of  London,  St.  Martin's  of  Canterbury,  the  ruined 
abbey  of  Glastonbury,  the  remains  of  churches  on 
the  island  of  lona,  or  the  oldest  ruins  found  in 
Ireland. 

What  to  an  American  is  ancient  history,  to  an 
Englishman  is  an  affair  of  scarcely  more  than  yes- 
terday. As  Goldwin  Smith  has  caid,  the  Revolu- 
tion of  1776  is  to  an  American  what  the  Norman 
conquest  is  to  an  Englishman — the  event  on  which 
to  found  a  claim  of  ancestral  distinction.  More 
than  seven  hundred  years  divide  these  two  events. 
With  the  Revolution,  our  history  as  a  nation  be- 
gan ;  before  that  v/e  were  a  group  of  colonies,  each 
a  part  of  the  British  Empire.  We  fought  single- 
handed  with  Indians,  it  is  true,  and  we  cooj)er- 
ated  with  the  mother  country  in  wresting  the  con- 
xii 


INTRODUCTION 


tinent  from  the  lYench,  but  all  this  history,  in  a 
technical  sense,  is  English  history  rather  than  the 
history  of  the  United  States. 

Our  Revolution  occurred  in  the  reign  of  the 
Third  George ;  back  of  it  runs  a  line  of  other  Han- 
overian kings,  of  Stuart  kings,  of  Tudor  kings, 
of  Plantagenet  kings,  of  Norman  kings,  of  Saxon 
kings,  of  Roman  governors,  of  Briton  kings  and 
queens,  of  Scottish  tribal  heads  and  kings,  of 
ancient  Irish  kings.  Long  before  Caesar  landed  in 
Kent,  inhabitants  of  England  had  erected  forts, 
constructed  war  chariots,  and  reared  temples  of 
worship,  of  which  a  notable  example  still  sur^aves 
on  Salisbury  Plain.  So  had  the  Picts  and  Scots  of 
Caledonia  reared  strongholds  and  used  war  char- 
iots, and  so  had  Celts  erected  temples  of  worship 
in  Ireland,  and  Phoenicians  had  mined  tin  in  Corn- 
wall. When  Cavaliers  were  founding  a  common- 
wealth at  Jamestown  and  the  Puritans  one  on 
Massachusetts  Bay,  the  British  Isles  were  six  hun- 
dred years  away  from  the  Norman  conquest,  the 
Reformation  of  the  English  church  had  been  ef- 
fected, Chaucer  had  written  his  "Tales,"  Bacon  his 
"Essays,"  and  Shakespeare  all  but  a  few  of  his 
"Plays." 


INTRODUCTION 


Of  the  many  races  to  whom  belong  these  storied 
annals — Briton,  Piet,  Scot,  Saxon,  Dane,  Celt, 
Norman — we  of  America,  whose  ancestral  lines 
run  back  to  those  islands,  are  the  far-descended 
children,  heirs  actual.  Our  history,  as  a  civilized 
people,  began  not  in  Independence  Hall,  Philadel- 
phia, not  at  Jamestown,  not  at  Plymouth  Rock, 
but  there  in  the  northeastern  Atlantic,  in  lands 
now  acknowledging  the  sway  of  the  Parliament  of 
Westminster,  and  where,  as  with  us,  the  speech  of 
all  is  English.  Not  alone  do  we  share  that  speec^h 
with  them,  but  that  matchless  literature,  also  Eng- 
lish, and  more  than  that,  racial  customs,  laws  and 
manners,  of  which  many  are  as  old  as  the  Norman 
conquest,  while  others,  for  aught  we  know,  are 
survivals  from  an  age  when  human  sacrifices  were 
made  around  the  monoliths  of  Stonehenge. 

It  is  not  in  lands  such  as  these  that  any  real 
American  can  ever  feel  himself  a  stranger.  There 
lies  for  so  many  of  us  the  ancestral  home — in  that 
"land  of  just  and  of  old  renown,"  that  "royal 
throne  of  kings,"  that  "precious  stone  set  in  the 
silver  sea,"  that  "dcai-,  dear  land,  dear  for  her 
reputation   through  liie  world." 

F.   W.   H. 


CONTENTS  OF  VOLUME  I 

Great  Britain  and  Ireland — Part  One 

General  Introductiox  and  Introduction  to 
Vols.  I  and  II — Bv  the  Editor 


I— LONDON 

PAGE 

A  General  Sketch — By  Goldwin  Smith  . .  1 
Westminster  Abbey — By  Washington  Irving  7 
The  Houses  of  Parliament — By  Nathaniel 

Hawthorne 15 

St.  Paulas— By  Augustus  J.  C.  Hare  . .  . .  18 
The    British    Museum    and    the    Crystal 

Palace— By  H.  A.  Taine 23 

The    Temple's    Gallery    of    Ghosts    from 

Dickens— By  J.  R.  G.  Hassard  . .  . .  27 
The   Temple   Church — By   Augustus  J.   C. 

Hare      32 

Lambeth  Church  and  Palace — By  Augustus 

J.  C.  Hare \ 36 

Dickens's   Limehouse   Hole — ^By   J.   R.   G. 

Hassard         42 

Whitehall— By  Augustus  J.  C.  Hare  . .      . .     47 

XV 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


The  Towtk — By  W.  Hepworth  Dixon  , .      . .  53 

St.  James's  Palace — By  Augustus  J.  C.  Hare  59 
Literary  Serines  of  London — By  William 

Winter 65 


II— CATHEDRALS   AND   ABBEYS 

Canterbury — By  the  Editor 71 

Old  York— By  William  Winter 77 

York  and  Lincoln  Compared — By  Edward 

A.  Freeman 80 

Durham — By  Nathaniel   Hawthorne      . .      . .     82 

Ely — By  James  M.  Hoppin 86 

Salisbury — By  Nathaniel  Hawthorne  . .     . .     88 

Exeter — By  Anna  Bowman  Dodd 92 

Lichfield — By  Nathaniel  Hawthorne     . .      . .     94 

Winchester — By  William  Howitt 97 

Wells — By  James  M,   Hoppin      102 

Bury  St.  Edmunds — By  H.  Claiborne  Dixon  105 
Glastonbury — By  H.  Claiborne  Dixon  . .  . .  108 
TiNTERN — By  H.  Claiborne  Dixon 112 


CONTENTS 


III— CASTLES   AND    STATELY   HOMES 

PAGE 

Living  in  Great  Houses — By  Richard  Grant 
WMte 114 

Windsor — ^Ey  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe  . .  . .  119 
Blenheim — By  the  Duke  of  Marlborough  . .  122 
Warwick — ^By  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe  . .  c .  126 
Kenilworth — By  Sir  Walter  Scott       . .      . .  130 

Alnwick— By  William  Howitt       132 

Hampton  Court — By  William  Howitt  . .  . .  135 
Chatsworth  and  Haddon  Hall — By  Elihu 

Burritt 143 

Eaton  Hall — By  Nathaniel  Hawthorne. .  . .  146 
Holland  House — ^By  William  Howitt  . .  . .  149 
Arundel — By  Anna  Bowman  Dodd  . .  . .  153 
Penshurst — By  William  Howitt 158 

IV— ENGLISH  LITERARY  SHRINES 

PAGE 

Stratford-on-Avon — By  Washington  Irving  163 
Newstead  Ajbbey — By  Nathaniel  Hawthorne  171 
Hucknall-Torkard  Church  (Byron's  Grave) 

—By  William  Winter 178 

Dr.    Johnson's    Birthplace — ^By    Nathaniel 

Hawthorne 184 

(English  Literavy  Shrines  continued  in  Vol.  II) 
xvii 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

VOLUME  I  . 

frontispiece 

Trafalgar  Square^  London 
preceding  page  1 

Westminster  Abbey 

River  Front  of  the  Houses  of  Parlia- 
ment 

St.  Paulas  Cathedral 

Interior  op  St.  Paulas  Cathedral 

Chapel  of  Edward  the  Confessor,  West- 
minster Abbey 

The  Tower  of  London 

Canterbury  Cathedral. 

Tintern  Abbey 

Dryburgh  Abbey 

Windsor  Castle 

following  page  95 

The  Albert  Memorial  Chapel,  Windsor 
The  Throne  Room,  Windsor  Castle 
Poets^  Corner,  Westminster  Abbey 
The  Great  Hall  at  Penshurst 
The  Entrance  Hall  of  Blenheim  Palace 
Guy's  Tower  and  the  Clock  Tower,  War- 
wick Castle 
Warwick  Castle 

The  Beauchamp  Chapel,  Warwick 
The  Ruins  of  Kenilworth  Castle 
Chatsworth 
Alnwick  Castle 
Holland  House 
Eaton  Hall 


■n   O 


IKTERIOU   OF   ST.   PAUL  S  CATHEDRAL 


f'HAl'KL   OF   KI)\VAi;i>  TIIK   COXFKSSOIJ.    WKSTAfTXSTER  AP.BEY 
Coronation    cliair    in    the    rcntrr    witli    Coronation    stone    undorneath 


TIXTERX    ABBEY 


DRYBURGH  ABBEY' 
Here    Sir    "Walter    Scott    is    buried 


«•              ^^"^^^^if 

^r 

i 

m 

I 

LONDON 

A  GENERAL  SKETCH* 

BY     GOLDWIN     SMITH 

The  huge  city  perhaps  never  imprest  the 
imagination  more  than  when  approaching  it  by 
night  on  the  top  of  a  coach  you  saw  its  number- 
less lights  flaring,  as  Tennyson  says,  "like  a  dreary 
dawn."  The  most  impressive  approach  is  now  by 
the  river  through  the  infinitude  of  docks,  quays, 
and  shipping.  London  is  not  a  city,  but  a  prov- 
ince of  brick  and  stone.  Hardly  even  from  the 
top  of  St.  Paul's  or  of  the  Monument  can  any- 
thing like  a  view  of  the  city  as  a  whole  be  obtained. 

It  is  indispensable,  however,  to  make  one  or  the 
other  of  these  ascents  when  a  clear  day  can  be 
found,  not  so  much  because  the  view  is  fine,  as 
because  you  will  get  a  sensation  of  vastness  and 
multitude  not  easily  to  be  forgotten.  There  is, 
or  was  not  long  ago,  a  point  on  the  ridge  which 
connects  Hampstead  with  Highgate  from  which, 
as  you  looked  over  London  to  the  Surrey  Hills 
beyond,  the  modern  Babylon  presented  something 
like  the  aspect  of  a  city.  The  ancient  Babylon 
may  have  vied  with  London  in  circumference,  but 

*From  articles  written  for  the  Toronto  "Week." 
Afterward  (1888)  issued  by  The  Macmillan  Company 
in  the  volume  entitled  "The  Trip  to   England." 

I— 1  1 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

the  gi'eater  part  of  its  area  was  occupied  by  open 
spaces;  the  modern  Babylon  is  a  dense  mass  of 
humanity.   .    .    . 

The  Empire  and  the  commercial  relations  of  Eng- 
land draw  representatives  of  trading  eommittees 
or  subject  races  from  all  parts  of  the  globe,  and 
the  faces  and  costumes  of  the  Hindu,  the  Parsee, 
the  Lascar  and  the  ubiquitous  Chinaman  mingle 
in  the  motley  crowd  with  the  merchants  of  Europe 
and  America.  The  streets  of  London  are,  in  this 
respect,  to  the  modern  what  the  great  Palace  of 
Tyre  must  have  been  to  the  ancient  world.  But 
pile  Carthage  on  Tyre,  Venice  on  Carthage, 
Amsterdam  on  Venice,  and  you  will  not  make  the 
equal,  or  anything  near  the  equal,  of  London. 

Here  is  the  great  mart  of  the  world,  to  which 
the  best  and  richest  products  are  brought  from 
eveiy  land  and  clime,  so  that  if  you  have  put 
money  in  your  purse  you  may  command  every 
object  of  utility  or  fancy  which  grows  or  is  made 
anywhere  without  going  beyond  the  circuit  of  the 
great  cosmopolitan  city.  Parisian,  German,  Rus- 
sian, Hindu,  Japanese,  Chinese  industry  is  as 
much  at  your  service  here,  if  you  have  the  all- 
compelling  talisman  in  your  pocket,  as  in  Paris, 
Berlin,  St.  Petersburg,  Benares,  Yokohama,  or 
Peking.  That  London  is  the  great  distributing 
center  of  the  world  is  shown  by  the  fleets  of  the 
carrying  trade  of  which  the  countless  masts  rise 
along  her  wharves  and  in  her  docks.  She  is  also 
the  bank  of  the  world.  But  we  are  reminded  of 
the  vicissitudes  of  commerce  and  the  precarious 
tenure  by  which  its  empire  is  held  when  we  con- 
sider that  the  bank  of  the  world  in  the  middle  of 
the  last  century  was  Amsterdam. 


LONDON 


The  first  and  perhaps  the  greatest  marvel  of 
London  is  the  commissariat.  How  can  the  five 
millions  be  regularly  supplied  with  food,  and  every- 
thing needful  to  life,  even  with  such  things  as 
milk  and  those  kinds  of  fruits  which  can  hardly 
be  left  beyond  a  day?  Here  again  we  see  reason 
for  excepting  to  the  sweeping  jeremiads  of  cyni- 
cism, and  concluding  that  tho  there  may  be 
fraud  and  scamping  in  the  industrial  world,  genu- 
ine production,  faithful  ser\dce,  disciplined  energy, 
and  skill  in  organization,  can  not  wholly  have  de- 
parted from  the  earth,  London  is  not  only  well 
fed,  but  well  supplied  with  water  and  well  drained. 
Vast  and  densely  peopled  as  it  is,  it  is  a  healthy 
city.  Yet  the  limit  of  practical  extension  seems 
to  be  nearly  reached.  It  becomes  a  question  how 
the  increasing  multitude  shall  be  supplied  not  only 
with  food  and  water,  but  with  air.     .     .     . 

The  East  of  London,  which  is  the  old  city,  is, 
as  all  know,  the  business  quarter.  Let  the  worship- 
er of  Mammon  when  he  sets  foot  in  Lombard 
Street  adore  his  divinity,  of  all  whose  temples 
this  is  the  richest  and  the  most  famous.  Note 
the  throng  incessantly  threading  those  narrow  and 
tortuous  streets.  Nowhere  are  the  faces  so  eager 
or  the  steps  so  hurried,  except  perhaps  in  the 
business  quarter  of  New  York.  Commerce  has  still 
its  center  here;  but  the  old  social  and  ci\'ic  life  of 
the  city  has  fled.  What  once  were  the  dwellings 
of  the  merchants  of  London  are  now  vast  col- 
lections of  offices.  The  merchants  dwell  in  the 
mansions  of  the  West  End,  their  clerks  in  villas 
and  boxes  without  number,  to  which  when  their 
offices  close  they  are  taken  by  the  suburban  rail- 
ways.    On  Sunday  a  more  than  Sabbath  stillness 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

reigns  in  those  streets,  while  in  the  churches,  the 
monuments  of  Wren's  architeetural  genius  which 
in  Wren's  day  were  so  crowded,  the  clergyman 
sleepily  performs  the  service  to  a  congregation 
which  you  may  count  upon  your  fingers. 

It  is  worth  while  to  visit  the  city  on  a  Sunday. 
Here  and  there,  in  a  back  street,  may  still  be  seen 
Avhat  was  once  the  mansion  of  a  merchant  prince, 
ample  and  stately,  with  the  rooms  which  in  former 
days  displayed  the  pride  of  commercial  wealth  and 
resounded  with  the  festivities  of  the  olden  time; 
now  the  sound  of  the  pen  alone  is  heard.  These 
and  other  relies  of  former  days  are  fast  disappear- 
ing before  the  march  of  improvement,  which  is 
driving  straight  new  streets  through  the  antique 
labyrinth.  Some  of  the  old  thoroughfares  as  well 
as  the  old  names  remain.  There  is  Cheapside, 
along  which,  through  the  changeful  ages,  so  varied 
a  procession  of  history  has  swept.  There  is  Fleet 
Street,  close  to  which,  in  Bolt  Court,  Johnson 
lived,  and  which  he  preferred,  or  affected  to  pre- 
fer, to  the  finest  scenes  of  nature.  Temple  Bar, 
once  grimly  garnished  with  the  heads  of  traitors, 
has  been  numbered  with  the  things  of  the  past, 
after  furnishing  Mr.  Bright,  by  the  manner  in 
which  the  omnibuses  were  jammed  in  it,  with  a 
vivid  simile  for  a  legislative  deadlock.   .    .    . 

Society  has  migrated  to  the  Westward,  leaving 
far  behind  the  ancient  abodes  of  anstocracy,  the 
Strand,  where  once  stood  a  long  line  of  patrician 
dwellings.  Great  Queen  Street,  where  Shaftes- 
bury's house  may  still  be  seen;  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields, 
where,  in  the  time  of  George  II.,  the  Duke  of  New- 
castle held  his  levee  of  oirice-seekers,  and  Russell 
Square,  now  reduced  to  a  sort  of  dowager  gentility. 


LONDON 


Hereditary  mansions,  too  ancient  and  magnificent 
to  be  deserted,  such  as  Norfolk  House,  Spencer 
House  and  Lansdowne  House,  stayed  the  west- 
ward course  of  aristocracy  at  St.  James's  Square 
and  Street,  Piccadilly,  and  Mayfair;  but  the  gen- 
eral tide  of  fashion  has  swept  far  beyond. 

In  that  vast  realm  of  wealth  and  leisure,  the 
West  End  of  London,  the  eye  is  not  satisfied  with 
seeing,  neither  the  ear  with  hearing.  There  is  not, 
nor  has  there  ever  been,  anything  like  it  in  the 
world.  Notes  of  admiration  might  be  accumulated 
to  any  extent  without  aiding  the  impression.  In 
every  direction  the  visitor  may  walk  till  he  is 
weary  through  streets  and  squares  of  houses,  all 
evidently  tlie  abodes  of  wealth,  some  of  them  veri- 
table palaces.  The  parks  are  thronged,  the  streets 
are  blocked  with  handsome  equipages,  filled  with 
the  rich  and  gay.  Shops  blaze  with  costly  wares, 
and  abound  with  everything  that  can  minister  to 
luxury. 

On  a  fine  bright  day  of  May  or  early  June,  and 
days  of  May  or  early  June  are  often  as  bright  in 
London  as  anywhere,  the  Park  is  probably  the 
greatest  display  of  wealth  and  of  the  pride  of 
w^ealth  in  the  world.  The  contrast  with  the  slums 
of  the  East  End,  no  doubt,  is  striking,  and  we  can 
not  wonder  if  the  soul  of  the  East  End  is  some- 
times filled  with  bitterness  at  the  sight.  A  social 
Jeremiah  might  be  moved  to  holy  wrath  by  the 
glittering  scene.  The  seer,  however,  might  be  re- 
minded that  not  all  the  owners  of  those  carriages 
are  the  children  of  idleness,  living  by  the  sweat  of 
another  man's  brow ;  many  of  them  are  professional 
men  or  chiefs  of  industry,  working  as  hard  with 
their  brains  as  any  meehanic  works  with  his  hands, 

5 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

and  indispensable  ministers  of  the  highest  civili- 
zation. The  number  and  splendor  of  the  equipages 
are  thought  to  have  been  somewhat  diminished  of 
late  by  the  reduction  of  rents. 

The  architecture  of  the  West  End  of  London  is 
for  the  most  part  drearily  monotonous;  its  forms 
have  too  plainly  been  determined  by  the  builder, 
not  by  the  artist,  tho  since  the  restoration  of 
art,  varieties  of  style  have  been  introduced,  and 
individual  beauty  has  been  more  cultivated.  It 
is  the  boundless  expanse  of  opulence,  street  after 
street,  square  after  square,  that  most  impresses 
the  beholder,  and  makes  him  wonder  from  what 
miraculous  horn  of  plenty  such  a  tide  of  riches 
can  have  been  poured.     .     .     . 

A  beautiful  city  London  can  not  be  called.  In 
beauty  it  is  no  match  for  Paris.  The  smoke,  which 
not  only  blackens  but  corrodes,  is  fatal  to  the 
architecture  as  well  as  to  the  atmosphere.  More- 
over, the  fine  buildings,  which  if  brought  together 
would  form  a  magnificent  assemblage,  are  scat- 
tered over  the  immense  city,  and  some  of  them  are 
ruined  by  their  surroundings.  There  is  a  fine 
group  at  Westminster,  and  the  view  from  the 
steps  under  the  Duke  of  York's  column  across  St. 
James's  Park  is  beautiful.  But  even  at  Westmin- 
ster meanness  jostles  splendor,  and  the  picture  is 
marred  by  Mr.  Hankey's  huge  tower  of  Babel  ris- 
ing near.  London  has  had  no  edile  like  Hauss- 
mann. 

The  Embankment  on  the  one  side  of  the  Thames 
is  noble  in  itself,  but  you  look  across  from  it  at 
the  hideous  and  dirty  wharves  of  Southwark. 
Nothing  is  more  charming  than  a  fine  water  street ; 
and  this  water  street  might  be  very  fine  were  it  not 

6 


LONDON 


marred  by  the  projection  of  a  huge  railway  shed. 
The  new  Courts  of  Law,  a  magnificent,  tho  it 
is  said  inconvenient,  pile,  instead  of  being  placed 
on  the  Embankment  or  in  some  large  open  space, 
are  choked  up  and  lost  in  rookeries.  London,  we 
must  repeat,  has  had  no  edile.  Perhaps  the  finest 
view  is  that  from  a  steamboat  on  the  river,  em- 
bracing the  Houses  of  Parliament,  Somerset  House, 
and  the  Temple,  with  St.  Paul's  rising  above  the 
whole. 


WESTMINSTER   ABBEY* 

BY  WASHINGTON  IRVING 

On  one  of  those  sober  and  rather  melancholy 
days  in  the  latter  part  of  Autumn,  when  the  shad- 
ows of  morning  and  evening  almost  mingle  together 
and  throw  a  gloom  over  the  decline  ef  the  year,  I 
passed  several  hours  in  rambling  about  West- 
minster Abbey.  ...  I  spent  some  time  in 
Poet's  Corner,  which  occupies  an  end  of  one  of 
the  transepts  or  cross  aisles  of  the  abbey.  The 
monuments  are  generally  simple;  for  the  lives  of 
literary  men  afford  no  striking  themes  for  the 
sculptor.  Shakespeare  and  Addison  have  statues 
erected  to  their  memories ;  but  the  greater  part  have 
busts,  medallions,  and  sometimes  mere  inscriptions. 
Notwithstanding  the  simplicity  of  these  memorials, 
I  have  always  observed  that  the  visitors  to  the 
abbey  remained  longest  about  them.  A  kinder  and 
fonder  feeling  takes  the  place  of  that  cold  curiosity 
or  vague  admiration  with  which  they  gaze  on  the 

*From  "The  Sketch  Book."  Published  by  G.  P. 
Putnam's  Sons. 

7 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

splendid  monuments  of  the  great  and  heroic.  They 
linger  about  these  as  about  the  tombs  of  friends 
and  companions;  for  indeed  there  is  something  of 
companionship  between  the  author  and  the  reader. 
Other  men  are  known  to  posterity  only  through  the 
medium  of  histoiy,  which  is  continually  growing 
faint  and  obscure;  but  the  intercourse  between  the 
author  and  his  fellow  men  is  ever  new,  active  and 
immediate. 

From  Poet's  Comer  I  continued  my  stroll  to- 
ward that  part  of  the  abbey  which  contains  the 
sepulchers  of  the  kings.  I  wandered  among  what 
once  were  chapels,  but  which  are  now  occupied  by 
the  tombs  and  monuments  of  the  great.  At  every 
turn  I  met  with  some  illustrious  name ;  or  the  cog- 
nizance of  some  powerful  house  renowned  in 
history.  As  the  eye  darts  into  these  dusky  cham- 
bers of  death,  it  catches  glimpses  of  quaint  effigies; 
some  kneeling  in  niches,  as  if  in  devotion;  others 
stretched  upon  the  tombs,  with  hands  piously 
prest  together;  warriors  in  armor,  as  if  reposing 
after  battle;  prelates  with  croziers  and  miters;  and 
nobles  in  robes  and  coronets,  lying,  as  it  were,  in 
state.  In  glancing  over  thLs  scene,  so  strangely 
populous,  yet  where  every  form  is  so  still  and 
silent,  it  seems  almost  as  if  we  were  treading  a 
mansion  of  that  fabled  city  where  everything  had 
been  suddenly  transmuted  into  stone. 

In  the  opposite  transept  to  Poet's  Corner  stands 
a  monument  which  is  among  the  most  renowned 
achievements  of  modern  art,  but  which  to  me  ap- 
pears horrible  rather  than  sublime.  It  is  the  tomb 
of  Mrs.  Nightingale,  by  Roubillac.  The  bottom 
of  the  monument  is  represented  as  throwing  open 
its  marble  doors,  and  a  sheeted  skeleton  is  starting 

8 


LONDON 


forth.  The  shroud  is  falling  from  its  fleshless 
frame  as  he  launches  his  dart  at  his  victim.  She 
is  sinking  into  her  affrighted  husband's  arms,  who 
strives,  with  vain  and  frantic  effort,  to  avert  the 
blow.  The  whole  is  executed  with  terrible  truth 
and  spirit;  we  almost  fancy  we  hear  the  gibbering 
yell  of  triumph  bursting  from  the  distended  jaws 
of  the  specter.  But  why  should  we  thus  seek  to 
clothe  death  with  unnecessaiy  teiTors,  and  to  spread 
horrors  round  the  tombs  of  those  we  love?  The 
grave  should  be  surrounded  by  everything  that 
might  inspire  tenderness  and  veneration  for  the 
dead;  or  that  might  win  the  living  to  virtue.  It 
is  the  place,  not  of  disgust  and  dismay,  but  of 
sorrow  and  meditation.     .     .     . 

I  continued  in  this  way  to  move  from  tomb  to 
tomb,  and  from  chapel  to  chapel.  The  day  was 
gradually  wearing  away;  the  distant  tread  of  loi- 
terers about  the  abbey  gi-ew  less  and  less  frequent ; 
the  sweet-tongued  bell  was  summoning  to  evening 
prayers;  and  I  saw  at  a  distance  the  choristers,  in 
their  white  surplices,  crossing  the  aisle  and  enter- 
ing the  choir.  I  stood  before  the  entrance  to 
Henry  the  Seventh's  chapel.  A  flight  of  steps  lead 
up  to  it,  through  a  deep  and  gloomy  but  magnifi- 
cent arch.  Great  gates  of  brass,  richly  and  deli- 
cately wrought,  turn  heavily  upon  their  hinges,  as 
if  proudly  reluctant  to  admit  the  feet  of  common 
mortals  into  this  most  gorgeous  of  sepulchers. 

On  entering,  the  eye  is  astonished  by  the  pomp 
of  architecture  and  the  elaborate  beauty  of  sculp- 
tured detail.  The  very  walls  are  wrought  into 
universal  ornament,  incrusted  with  tracery  and 
scooped  into  niches,  crowded  with  statues  of  saints 
and  martyrs.     Stone  seems,  by  the  cunning  labor 


9 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

of  the  chisel,  to  have  been  robbed  of  its  weight 
and  density,  suspended  aloft,  as  if  by  magic,  and 
the  fretted  roof  achieved  with  the  wonderful 
minuteness  and  airy  security  of  a  cobweb. 

Along  the  sides  of  the  chapel  are  the  lofty  stalls 
of  the  Knights  of  the  Bath,  richly  carved  of  oak, 
tho  with  the  gTotesque  decorations  of  Gothic 
architecture.  On  the  pinnacles  of  the  stalls  are 
affixt  the  helmets  and  crests  of  the  knights,  with 
their  scarfs  and  swords;  and  above  them  are  sus- 
pended their  banners,  emblazoned  with  armorial 
bearings,  and  contrasting  the  splendor  of  gold  and 
puiple  and  crimson  with  the  cold  gray  fretwork 
of  the  roof.  In  the  midst  of  this  grand  mausoleum 
stands  the  sepulcher  of  its  founder — his  effigy,  with 
that  of  his  queen,  extended  on  a  sumptuous  tomb, 
and  the  whole  surrounded  by  a  superbly  wrought 
brazen  railing.     .     .     . 

When  I  read  the  names  inscribed  on  the  banners, 
they  were  those  of  men  scattered  far  and  wide 
about  the  world,  some  tossing  upon  distant  seas; 
some  under  aims  in  distant  lands;  some  mingling 
in  the  busy  intrigues  of  courts  and  cabinets;  all 
seeking  to  deserve  one  more  distinction  in  this 
mansion  of  shadowy  honors ;  the  melancholy  reward 
of  a  monument. 

Two  small  aisles  on  each  side  of  this  chapel  pre- 
sent a  touching  instance  of  the  equality  of  the 
grave;  which  brings  down  the  oppressor  to  a  level 
with  the  opprest,  and  mingles  the  dust  of  the 
bitterest  enemies  together.  In  one  is  the  sepulch«r 
of  the  haughty  Elizabeth;  in  tlie  other  is  that  of 
her  victim,  tlie  lovely  and  unfortunate  Mary.  Not 
an  hour  in  the  day  but  some  ejaculation  of  pity 
is  uttered  over  the  fate  of  the  latter,  mingled  with 

10 


LONDON 


indignation  at  her  oppressor.  The  walls  of  Eliz- 
abeth's sepuleher  continually  echo  with  sighs  of 
sympathy  heaved  at  the  grave  of  her  rival. 

A  peculiar  melancholy  reigns  over  the  aisle  where 
Mary  lies  buried.  The  light  struggles  dimly 
through  windows  darkened  by  dust.  The  greater 
part  of  the  place  is  in  deep  shadow,  and  the  walls 
are  stained  and  tinted  by  time  and  weather.  A 
marble  figure  of  Mary  is  stretched  upon  the  tomb, 
round  which  is  an  iron  railing,  much  corroded, 
bearing  her  national  emblem — the  thistle.  I  was 
weary  with  wandering,  and  sat  down  to  rest  my- 
self at  the  monument,  revohdng  in  my  mind  the 
chequered  and  disastrous  story  of  poor  Mary.  .  .  . 

Suddenly  the  notes  of  the  deep-laboring  organ 
burst  upon  the  ear,  falling  with  doubled  and  re- 
doubled intensity,  and  rolling,  as  it  were,  huge 
billows  of  sound.  How  well  do  their  volume  and 
grandeur  accord  with  this  mighty  building!  With 
what  pomp  do  they  swell  through  its  vast  vaults, 
and  breathe  their  awful  harmony  through  these 
caves  of  death,  and  make  the  silent  sepuleher  vocaF! 
And  now  they  rise  in  triumph  and  acclamation, 
heaving  higher  and  higher  their  accordant  notes, 
and  piling  sound  on  sound.  And  now  they  pause, 
and  the  soft  voices  of  the  choir  break  out  into  sweet 
gushes  of  melody;  they  soar  aloft,  and  warble 
along  the  roof,  and  seem  to  play  about  these  lofty 
vaults  like  the  pure  airs  of  heaven.  Again  the 
pealing  organ  heaves  its  thrilling  thunders,  com- 
pressing air  into  music,  and  rolling  it  forth  upon 
the  soul.  What  long-drawn  cadences!  What 
solemn,  sweeping  concords!  It  grows  more 
and  more  dense  and  powerful — it  fills  the  vast 
pile,  and  seems  to  jar  the  very  walls — the  ear 


11 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

is  stunned — the  senses  are  overwhelmed.  And  now 
it  is  winding  up  in  full  jubilee — it  is  rising-  from 
the  earth  to  heaven — the  very  soul  seems  rapt 
away  and  floated  upward  on  this  swelling  tide  of 
harmony!     .     .     . 

I  rose  and  prepared  to  leave  the  abbey.  As  I 
descended  the  flight  of  steps  which  lead  into  the 
body  of  the  building,  my  eye  was  caught  by  the 
shrine  of  Edward  the  Confessor,  and  I  ascended 
the  small  staircase  that  conducts  to  it,  to  take 
from  thence  a  general  survey  of  this  wilderness  of 
tombs.  The  shrine  is  elevated  upon  a  kind  of 
platform,  and  close  around  it  are  the  sepulchers 
of  various  kings  and  queens.  From  this  eminence 
the  eye  looks  down  between  pillars  and  funeral 
trophies  to  the  chapels  and  chambers  below,  crowd- 
ed with  tombs;  where  warriors,  prelates,  courtiers 
and  statesmen  lie  moldering  in  their  "beds  of 
darkness."  Close  by  me  stood  the  great  chair  of 
coronation,  rudely  carved  of  oak,  in  the  barbarous 
taste  of  a  remote  and  Gothic  age.  The  scene 
seemed  almost  as  if  contrived,  with  tlieatrical  arti- 
fice, to  produce  an  effect  upon  the  beholder.  Here 
was  a  type  of  the  beginning  and  the  end  of  human 
pomp  and  power;  here  it  was  literally  but  a  step 
from  the  throne  to  the  sepulcher.  Would  not  one 
think  that  these  incongruous  mementos  had  been 
gathered  together  as  a  lesson  to  living  greatness, 
to  sliow  it,  even  in  the  moment  of  its  proudest 
exaltation,  the  neglect  and  dishonor  to  which  it 
must  soon  arrive;  how  soon  that  crown  which  en- 
circles its  brow  must  pass  away,  and  it  must  lie 
down  in  the  dust  and  disgraces  of  the  tomb,  and 
be  trampled  upon  by  the  feet  of  the  meanest  of  the 
multitude?  .    .    . 

12 


LONDON 


The  last  beams  of  day  were  now  faintly  stream- 
ing through  the  painted  windows  in  the  high  vaults 
above  me;  the  lower  parts  of  the  abbey  were  al- 
ready wi'apt  in  the  obscurity  of  twilight.  The 
chapels  and  aisles  grew  darker  and  darker.  The 
eflSgies  of  the  kings  faded  into  shadows ;  the  marble 
figures  of  the  monuments  assumed  strange  shapes 
in  the  uncertain  light;  the  evening  breeze  crept 
through  the  aisles  like  the  cold  breath  of  the  gi'ave ; 
and  even  the  distant  footfall  of  a  verger,  travers- 
ing the  Poet's  Corner,  had  something  strange  and 
dreary  in  its  sound.  I  slowly  retraced  my  morn- 
ing's walk,  and  as  I  passed  out  at  the  portal  of  the 
cloisters  the  door,  closing  with  a  jarring  noise 
behind  me,  filled  the  whole  building  with  echoes. 

I  endeavored  to  form  some  arrangement  in  my 
mind  of  the  objects  I  had  been  contemplating,  but 
found  they  were  already  fallen  into  indistinctness 
and  confusion.  Names,  inscriptions,  trophies,  had 
all  become  confounded  in  my  recollection,  tho 
I  had  scarcely  taken  my  foot  from  off  the  thresh- 
old. What,  thought  I,  is  this  vast  assemblage  of 
sepulchers  but  a  treasury  of  humiliation;  a  huge 
pile  of  reiterated  homilies  on  the  emptiness  of  re- 
nown and  the  certainty  of  oblivion !  It  is,  indeed, 
the  empire  of  death;  his  great  shadowy  palace, 
where  he  sits  in  state,  mocking  at  the  relics  of 
human  glory,  and  spreading  dust  and  forgetful- 
ness  on  the  monuments  of  princes.  How  idle  a 
boast,  after  all,  is  the  immortality  of  a  name! 
Time  is  ever  silently  turning  over  his  pages;  we 
are  too  much  engrossed  by  the  story  of  the  pres- 
ent, to  think  of  the  characters  and  anecdotes  that 
gave  interest  to  the  past ;  and  each  age  is  a  volume 
thrown  aside  to  be  speedily  forgotten.     The  idol 

13 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

of  to-day  pushes  the  hero  of  yesterday  out  of  our 
recollection;  and  will,  in  turn,  be  supplanted  by 
his  successor  of  to-morrow. 

"Our  fathers,"  says  Sir  Thomas  Browne,  "find 
their  graves  in  our  short  memories,  and  sadly  tell 
us  how  we  may  be  buried  in  our  survivors."  His- 
tory fades  into  fable;  fact  becomes  clouded  with 
doubt  and  controversy;  the  inscription  molders 
from  the  tablet;  the  statue  falls  from  the  pedestal. 
Columns,  arches,  pyramids,  what  are  they  but  heaps 
of  sand ;  and  their  epitaphs,  but  characters  written 
in  the  dust?  What  is  the  security  of  a  tomb,  or 
the  perpetuity  of  an  embalmment?  The  remains 
of  Alexander  the  Great  have  been  scattered  to  the 
wind,  and  his  empty  sarcophagus  is  now  the  mere 
curiosity  of  a  museum.  "The  Egyptian  mummies, 
which  Cambyses  or  time  hath  spared,  avarice  now 
consumeth ;  Mizraim  cures  wounds,  and  Pharaoh  is 
sold  for  balsams."* 

What,  then,  is  to  insure  this  pile  which  now 
towers  above  me  from  sharing  the  fate  of  mightier 
mausoleums?  The  time  must  come  when  its  gilded 
vaults,  which  now  spring  so  loftily,  shall  lie  in 
rubbish  beneath  the  feet;  when,  instead  of  the 
sound  of  melody  and  praise,  the  wind  shall  whistle 
through  the  broken  arches,  and  the  owl  hoot  from 
the  shattered  tower — when  the  garish  sunbeam  shall 
break  into  these  gloomy  mansions  of  death,  and 
the  ivy  twine  round  the  fallen  column ;  and  the  fox- 
glove hang  its  blossoms  about  the  nameless  urn, 
as  if  in  mockery  of  the  dead.  Thus  the  man  passes 
away;  his  name  perishes  from  record  and  recollec- 
tion; his  history  is  as  a  tale  that  is  told,  and  his 
very  monument  becomes  a  ruin. 
*Sir  Thomas  Browne. 

14 


LONDON 


THE    HOUSES   OF   PARLIAMENT* 

BY  NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE 

A  little  before  twelve,  we  took  a  cab,  and  went 
to  the  two  Houses  of  Parliament — the  most  im- 
mense building,  methinks,  that  ever  was  built;  and 
not  yet  finished,  tho  it  has  now  been  occupied 
for  years.  Its  exterior  lies  hugely  along  the 
ground,  and  its  great  unfinished  tower  is  still  climb- 
ing toward  the  sky;  but  the  result  (unless  it  be 
the  river-front,  which  I  have  not  yet  seen)  seems 
not  very  impressive.  The  interior  is  much  more 
successful.  Nothing  can  be  more  magnificent  and 
gravely  gorgeous  than  the  Chamber  of  Peers — a 
large  oblong  hall,  paneled  with  oak,  elaborately 
carved,  to  the  height  of  perhaps  twenty  feet.  Then 
the  balustrade  of  the  gallery  runs  around  the  hall, 
and  above  the  gallery  are  six  arched  windows  on 
each  side,  richly  painted  with  historic  subjects. 
The  roof  is  ornamented  and  gilded,  and  every- 
where throughout  there  is  embellishment  of  color 
and  car\'ing  on  the  broadest  scale,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  most  minute  and  elaborate;  statues  of  full 
s-ize  in  niches  aloft;  small  heads  of  kings,  no  big- 
ger than  a  doll;  and  the  oak  is  carved  in  all  parts 
of  the  paneling  as  faithfully  as  they  used  to  do 
it  in  Henry  VII.'s  time — as  faithfully  and  with  as 
good  workmanship,  but  with  nothing  like  the  vari- 
ety and  invention  which  I  saw  in  the  dining-room 
of  Smithell's  Hall.    There  the  artist  wrought  with 

♦From  "English  Note  Books."  By  arrangement  with, 
and  by  permission  of,  the  publishers  of  Hawthorne's 
works,   Houghton,   Mifflin  Co.     Copyright,   1870-1898. 

15 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

his  lieaii;  and  head;  but  much  of  this  work,  I  sup- 
pose, was  done  by  machinery. 

It  is  a  most  noble  and  splendid  apartment,  and, 
tho  so  fine,  there  is  not  a  touch  of  finery;  it 
glistens  and  glows  with  even  a  somber  magnifi- 
cence, owing  to  the  deep,  rich  hues  and  the  dim 
light,  bedimmed  with  rich  colors  by  coming  through 
the  painted  windows.  In  arched  recesses,  that 
serve  as  frames,  at  each  end  of  the  hall,  there  are 
three  pictures  by  modern  artists  from  English 
history;  and  tho  it  was  not  possible  to  see  them 
well  as  pictures,  they  adorned  and  enriched  the 
walls  marvelously  as  architectural  embellishments. 
The  Peers'  seats  are  four  rows  of  long  sofas  on 
each  side,  covered  with  red  morocco;  comfortable 
seats  enough,  but  not  adapted  to  any  other  than  a 
decorously  exact  position.  The  woolsack  is  be- 
tween these  two  divisions  of  sofas,  in  the  middle 
passage  of  the  floor — a  great  square  seat,  covered 
with  scarlet,  and  with  a  scarlet  cushion  set  up  per- 
pendicularly for  the  Chancellor  to  lean  against. 
In  front  of  the  woolsack  there  is  another  still 
larger  ottoman,  on  which  he  might  lie  at  full 
length — for  what  purpose  intended,  I  know  not. 
I  should  take  the  woolsack  to  be  not  a  very  com- 
fortable seat,  tho  I  suppose  it  was  originally 
designed  to  be  the  most  comfortable  one  that 
could  be  contrived. 

The  throne  is  the  first  object  you  see  on  enter- 
ing the  hall,  being  close  to  the  door;  a  chair  of 
antique  form,  with  a  high,  peaked  back,  and  a 
square  canopy  above,  tlie  whole  richly  carved  and 
quite  covered  with  burnislied  gilding,  besides  being 
adorned  with  rows  of  rock  crystals — which  seemed 
to  me  of  rather  questionable  taste.     .     .     . 

16 


LONDON 


We  next,  after  long  contemplating  this  rich  hall, 
proceeded  through  passages  and  corridors  to  a 
great  central  room,  very  beautiful,  which  seems 
to  be  used  for  purposes  of  refreshment,  and  for 
electric  telegraphs;  tho  I  should  not  suppose 
this  could  be  its  primitive  and  ultimate  design. 
Thence  we  went  into  the  House  of  Commons,  which 
is  larger  than  the  Chamber  of  Peers,  and  much  less 
richly  ornamented,  tho  it  would  have  appeared 
splendid  had  it  come  first  in  order.  The  Speaker's 
chair,  if  I  remember  rightly,  is  loftier  and  statelier 
than  the  throne  itself.  Both  in  this  hall  and  in 
that  of  the  Lords  we  were  at  first  surprized  by 
the  narrow  limits  within  which  the  great  ideas  of 
the  Lords  and  Commons  of  England  are  physically 
realized ;  they  would  seem  to  require  a  vaster  space. 
When  we  hear  of  members  rising  on  opposite  sides 
of  the  House,  we  think  of  them  but  as  dimly  dis- 
cernible to  their  opponents,  and  uplifting  their 
voices,  so  as  to  be  heard  afar;  whereas  they  sit 
closely  enough  to  feel  each  other's  spheres,  to  note 
all  expression  of  face,  and  to  give  the  debate  the 
character  of  a  conversation.  In  this  view  a  debate 
seems  a  much  more  earnest  and  real  thing  than 
as  we  read  it  in  a  newspaper.  Think  of  the  de- 
baters meeting  each  other's  eyes,  their  faces  flush- 
ing, their  looks  interpreting  their  words,  their 
speech  growing  into  eloquence,  without  losing  the 
genuineness  of  talk !  Yet,  in  fact,  tne  Chamber  of 
Peers  is  ninety  feet  long  and  half  as  broad  and 
high,  and  the  Chamber  of  Commons  is  still  larger. 


1—2  17 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 


ST.  PAUL»S* 

BY  AUGUSTUS  J.  C.  HARE 

It  will  be  admitted  that,  tho  in  general  ef- 
fect there  is  nothing  in  the  same  style  of  archi- 
tecture which  exceeds  the  exterior  of  St.  Paul's,  it 
has  not  a  single  detail  deserving  of  attention,  ex- 
cept the  Phenix  over  the  south  portico,  which  was 
executed  by  Gibber,  and  commemorates  the  curious 
fact  narrated  in  the  "Parentalia,"  that  the  very  first 
stone  which  Sir  Christopher  Wren  directed  a  mason 
to  bring  from  the  rubbish  of  the  old  church  to 
serve  as  a  mark  for  the  center  of  the  dome  in  his 
plans  was  inscribed  with  the  single  word  Resurgam 
— I  shall  rise  again.  The  other  ornaments  and 
statues  are  chiefly  by  Bird,  a  most  inferior  sculp- 
tor. Those  who  find  greater  faults  muse,  however, 
remember  that  St.  Paul's,  as  it  now  stands,  is  not 
according  to  the  first  design  of  "Wren,  the  rejection 
of  which  cost  him  bitter  tears.  Even  in  his  after 
work  he  met  with  so  many  rubs  and  ruffles,  and 
was  so  insufficiently  paid,  that  the  Duchess  of 
Marlborough,  said,  in  allusion  to  his  scaffold  labors, 
"He  is  dragged  up  and  down  in  a  basket  two  or 
three  times  in  a  week  for  an  insignificant  £200  a 
year."     .     .     . 

The  interior  of  St.  Paul's  is  not  without  a  gran- 
deur of  its  own,  but  in  detail  it  is  bare,  cold,  and 
uninteresting,  tho  Wren  intended  to  have  lined 
the  dome  with  mosaics,  and  to  have  placed  a 
grand  baldacchino  in  the  choir.  Tho  a  comparison 
with  St.  Peter's  inevitably  forces  itself  upon  those 
who  are  familiar  with  the  great  Roman  basilica, 
♦From  "Walks  in  London." 
18 


LONDON 


there  can  scarcely  be  a  greater  contrast  than  be- 
tween the  two  buildings.  There,  all  is  blazing 
with  precious  marbles;  here,  there  is  no  color  ex- 
cept from  the  poor  glass  of  the  eastern  windows, 
or  where  a  tattered  banner  waves  above  a  hero's 
monument.  In  the  blue  depths  of  the  misty  dome 
the  London  fog  loves  to  linger,  and  hides  the  re- 
mains of  some  feeble  frescoes  by  Thornhill,  Ho- 
garth's father-in-law.  In  St.  Paul's,  as  in  St. 
Peter's,  the  statues  on  the  monuments  destroy  the 
natural  proportion  of  the  arches  by  their  mon- 
strous size,  but  they  have  seldom  any  beauty  or 
grace  to  excuse  them.  The  week-day  services  are 
thinly  attended,  and,  from  the  nave,  it  seems  as 
if  the  knot  of  worshipers  near  the  choir  were 
lost  in  the  immensity,  and  the  peals  of  the  organ 
and  the  voices  of  the  choristers  were  vibrating 
through  an  areaded  solitude.     .     .     . 

The  most  interesting  portion  of  the  church  is 
the  Crypt,  where,  at  the  eastern  extremity,  are 
gathered  nearly  all  the  remains  of  the  tombs  which 
were  saved  from  the  old  St.  Paul's.  Here  repose 
the  head  and  half  the  body  of  Sir  Nicholas  Bacon 
(1579),  Lord  Keeper  of  the  Great  Seal  in  the  reign 
of  Elizabeth,  and  father  of  Francis,  Lord  Bacon. 
Other  fragments  represent  William  Cokain,  1626; 
William  Hewit,  1597;  and  John  Wolley  and  his 
wife,  1595.  There  are  tablets  to  "Sir  Simon  Bas- 
kerville  the  rich,"  phvsician  to  James  I.  and  Charles 
I.,  1641;  and  to  Brian,  Bishop  of  Chester,  1661. 
The  tomb  of  John  Martin,  bookseller,  and  his  wife, 
1680,  was  probably  the  first  monument  erected  in 
the  crypt  of  new  St.  Paul's.     .     .     . 

In  the  Crypt,  not  far  from  the  old  St.  Paul's 
tombs,  the  revered  Dean  Milman,  the  great  his- 

19 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

torian  of  the  church  (best  known,  perhaps,  by  his 
"History  of  the  Jews,"  his  "History  of  Latin' 
Christianity,"  and  his  contributions  to  "Heber's 
Hymns"),  is  now  buried  under  a  simple  tomb 
ornamented  with  a  raised  cross.  In  a  recess  on  the 
south  is  the  slab  of  Sir  Christopher  Wren,  and 
near  him,  in  other  chapels,  Robert  Mylne,  the  archi- 
tect of  old  Blackfriars  Bridge,  and  John  Rennie, 
the  architect  of  Waterloo  Bridge.  Beneath  the 
pavement  lies  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  (1742),  who 
had  an  almost  royal  funeral  in  St.  Paul's,  dukes 
and  marcjuises  contending  for  the  honor  of  being 
his  pallbearers.  Around  him  are  buried  his  dis- 
ciples and  followers — Lawrence  (1830),  Barry 
(1806),  Opie  (1807),  West  (1820),  Fuseli  (1825) ; 
but  the  most  remarkable  grave  is  that  of  William 
Mallord  Turner,  whose  dying  request  was  that  he 
might  be  buried  as  near  as  possible  to  Sir  Joshua. 

Where  the  heavy  pillars  and  arches  gather  thick 
beneath  the  dome,  in  spite  of  his  memorable  words 
at  the  battle  of  the  Nile — "Victory  or  Westminster 
Abbey" — is  the  grave  of  Lord  Nelson.  Followed  to 
the  grave  by  the  seven  sons  of  his  sovereign,  he 
was  buried  here  in  1806,  when  Dean  Milman,  who 
was  present,  "heard,  or  seemed  to  hear,  the  low 
wail  of  the  sailors  who  encircled  the  remains  of 
their  admiral."  They  tore  to  pieces  the  largest 
of  the  flags  of  the  "Victory,"  which  waved  above 
his  grave ;  the  rest  were  buried  with  his  coffin. 

The  sarcophagus  of  Nelson  was  designed  and 
executed  for  Cardinal  Wolsey  by  the  famous  Tor- 
regiano,  and  was  intended  to  contain  the  body  of 
Henry  VIII.  in  the  tomb-house  at  Windsor.  It  en- 
closes the  coffin  made  from  the  mast  of  the  ship 
''L'Orient,"  which  was  x^i^^sented  to  Nelson  after 

20 


LONDON 


the  battle  of  the  Nile  by  Ben  Hallowell,  captain 
of  the  "Swiftsnre,"  that,  when  he  was  tired  of 
life,  he  might  "be  buried  in  one  of  his  own  tro- 
phies." On  either  side  of  Nelson  repose  the  minor 
heroes  of  Trafalgar,  Colling-Avood  (1810)  and  Lord 
Northesk;  Pieton  also  lies  near  him,  but  outside 
the  surrounding  arches. 

A  second  huge  sarcophagus  of  porphyry  resting 
on  lions  is  the  tomb  where  Arthur  Wellesley,  Duke 
of  Wellington,  was  laid  in.  1852,  in  the  presence 
of  15,000  spectators,  Dean  Milman,  who  had  been 
present  at  Nelson's  funeral,  then  reading  the  serv- 
ices. Beyond  the  tomb  of  Nelson,  in  a  ghastly 
ghost-befittinp-  chamber  hung  with  the  velvet  which 
surrounded  his  lying  in  state  at  Chelsea,  and  on 
which,  by  the  flickering  torchlight,  we  see  emblaz- 
oned the  many  Orders  presented  to  him  by  foreign 
sovereigns,  is  the  funeral  car  of  Wellington,  mod- 
eled and  constructed  in  six  weeks,  at  an  expense 
of  £13,000,  from  guns  taken  in  his  campaigns. 

In  the  southwest  pier  of  the  dome  a  staircase 
ascends  by  616  steps  to  the  highest  point  of  the 
cathedral.  No  feeble  person  should  attempt  the 
fatigue,  and,  except  to  architects,  the  undertaking 
is  scarcely  worth  while.  An  easy  ascent  leads  to 
the  immense  passages  of  the  triforium,  in  which, 
opening  from  the  gallery  above  the  south  aisle,  is 
the  Library,  founded  by  Bishop  Compton,  who 
crowned  William  and  Mary,  Archbishop  Seeker 
refusing  to  do  so.  It  contains  the  bishop's  por- 
trait and  some  carving  by  Gibbons. 

At  the  corner  of  the  gallery,  on  the  left,  a  very 
narrow  stair  leads  to  the  Clock,  of  enormous  size, 
with  a  pendulum  16  feet  long,  constructed  by  Lang- 
ley  Bradley  in  1708.     Ever  since,  the  oaken  seats 

21 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

behind  it  have  been  occupied  by  a  changing 
crowd,  waiting  with  anxious  curiosity  to  see  the 
hammer  strike  its  bell,  and  tremulously  hoping  to 
tremble   at  the  vibration. 

Returning,  another  long  ascent  leads  to  the  Whis- 
pering Gallery,  below  the  windows  of  the  cupola, 
where  visitors  are  requested  to  sit  down  upon  a 
matted  seat  that  they  may  be  shown  how  a  low 
whisper  uttered  against  the  wall  can  be  distinctly 
heard  from  the  other  side  of  the  dome.  Hence  we 
reach  the  Stone  Gallery,  outside  the  base  of  the 
dome,  whence  we  may  ascend  to  the  Golden  Gal- 
lery at  its  summit.  This  last  ascent  is  interesting, 
as  being  between  the  outer  and  inner  domes,  and 
showing  how  completely  different  in  construction 
one  is  from  the  other.  The  view  from  the  gallery 
is  vast,  but  generally,  beyond  a  certain  distance, 
it  is  shrouded  in  smoke.  Sometimes,  one  stands 
aloft  in  a  clear  atmosphere,  while  beneath  the  fog 
rolls  like  a  sea,  through  which  the  steeples  and 
towers  are  just  visible  "like  the  masts  of  stranded 
vessels."  Hence  one  may  study  the  anatomy  of 
the  fifty-four  towers  wliich  Wren  was  obliged  to 
build  after  tjie  Fire  in  a  space  of  time  which 
would  only  have  properly  sufficed  for  the  construc- 
tion of  four.  The  same  characteristics,  more  and 
more  painfully  diluted,  but  always  slightly  varied, 
occur  in  each.  Bow  Church,  St.  Magnus,  St.  Bride, 
and  St.  Vedast  are  the  best. 

The  Great  Bell  of  St.  Paul's  (of  1716),  which 
hangs  in  the  south  tower,  bears  the  inscription, 
"Richard  Phelps  made  me,  1716."  It  only  tolls  on 
the  deaths  and  funerals  of  the  royal  family,  of 
Bishops  of  London,  Deans  of  St.  Paul's,  and  Lord 
Mayors  who  die  in  their  mayoralty. 


LONDON 


THE  BRITISH  MUSEUM  AND  THE 
CRYSTAL  PALACE* 

BY    HIPPOLYTE   ADOLPHE   TAINE 

I  have  letters  of  introduction  and  a  ticket  of 
admission  to  tiie  British  Museum.  About  the  Gre- 
cian marbles,  the  original  Italian  drawings,  about 
the  National  Gallery,  the  Hampton  Court  galleries, 
the  pictures  at  Buckingham  Palace  and  Windsor 
Castle,  and  the  private  collections,  I  shall  say 
nothing.  Still,  what  mai'\'els  and  what  historical 
tokens  are  all  these  things,  five  or  six  specimens  of 
high  civilization  manifested  in  a  perfect  art,  all 
differing  greatly  from  that  which  I  now  examine, 
and  so  well  adapted  for  bringing  into  relief  the 
good  and  the  evil.  To  do  that  would  fill  a  volume 
by  itself. 

The  Museum  library  contains  six  hundred  thou- 
sand volumes;  the  reading-room  is  vast,  circular  in 
form,  and  covered  with  a  cupola,  so  that  no  one 
is  far  from  the  central  office,  and  no  one  has  the 
light  in  his  eyes.  All  the  lower  stage  of  shelves 
is  filled  with  vrorks  of  reference — dictionaries,  col- 
lections of  biographies,  classics  of  all  sorts — which 
can  be  consulted  on  the  spot,  and  are  excellently 
arranged.  Moreover,  a  small  plan  placed  on  each 
table  indicates  where  they  are  placed  and  the  order 
in  which  they  stand. 

Each  seat  is  isolated;  there  is  nothing  in  front 
but  the  woodwork  of  the  desk,  so  that  no  one  is 
annoyed  by  the  presence  of  his  neighbor.    The  seats 

*From  "Notes  on  England."  By  arrangement  with 
the  pubHshers,  Henry  Holt  &  Co. 

23 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

and  tlie  tables  are  covered  with  leather,  and  are 
very  clean;  there  are  two  pens  to  each  desk,  the 
one  being  steel,  the  other  a  quill  pen ;  there  is  also 
a  small  stand  at  the  side,  upon  which  a  second 
volume,  or  the  volume  from  which  the  extracts  are 
being-  copied  may  be  placed.  To  procure  a  book, 
the  title  is  written  on  a  form,  which  is  handed 
to  the  central  office.  The  attendant  brings  the 
book  to  you  himself,  and  does  so  without  delay. 
I  have  made  trial  of  this,  even  in  the  case  of  works 
seldom  asked  for.  The  holder  of  the  book  is  re- 
sponsible till  he  has  received  back  the  form  filled 
up  when  he  applied  for  it.  For  ladies  a  place  is 
reserved,  which  is  a  delicate  piece  of  attention. 

What  a  contrast  if  we  compare  this  with  our 
great  library  at  the  Louvre,  with  its  long  room, 
with  half  of  the  readers  dazzled  by  the  light  in 
their  eyes,  the  readers  being  packed  together  at  a 
common  table,  the  titles  of  the  books  being  called 
out  in  loud  tones,  the  long  time  spent  in  waiting 
at  the  central  office.  The  French  Library  has  been 
reformed  according  to  the  Enerlish  model,  yet  with- 
out being  rendered  as  convenient.  Nevertheless, 
ours  is  the  more  liberally  conducted ;  its  doors  are 
opened  to  all  comers.  Here  one  must  be  a  "respee- 
alDle"  person;  no  one  is  admitted  unless  vouched 
for  by  two  householders.  This  is  said  to  be  enough ; 
as  it  is,  those  gain  admission  who  are  worse  than 
shabby — men  in  workin<>-  clothes,  and  some  without 
shoes — they  have  been  introduced  by  clergymen. 
The  grant  for  buying  new  books  is  seven  or  eight 
times  larger  than  ours.  When  shall  we  learn  to 
spend  our  money  in  a  sensible  way? 

In  other  matters  they  are  not  so  successful,  such 
as  the  Crystal  Palace  at  Sydenham,  for  instance, 

24 


LONDON 


which  formed  the  building  for  the  Great  Exhibi- 
tion, and  which  is  now  a  sort  of  museum  of  curi- 
osities. It  is  gigantic,  like  London  itself,  and  like 
so  many  things  in  London,  but  how  can  I  portray 
the  gigantic  ?  All  the  ordinary  sensations  produced 
by  size  are  intensified  several  times  here.  It  is  two 
miles  in  circumference  and  has  three  stories  of  pro- 
digious height;  it  would  easily  hold  five  or  six 
buildings  like  our  Palace  of  Industry,  and  it  is  of 
glass;  it  consists,  first,  of  an  immense  rectangular 
structure  rising  toward  the  center  in  a  semicircle 
like  a  hothouse,  and  flanked  by  two  Chinese  towers ; 
then,  on  either  side,  long  buildings  descend  at 
right  angles,  enclosinp"  the  garden  with  its  fomi- 
tains,  statues,  summer  houses,  strips  of  turf,  groups 
of  large  trees,  exotic  plants,  and  beds  of  flowei-s. 
The  acres  of  glass  sparkle  in  the  sunlight;  at  the 
horizon  an  undulating  line  '-"-P  green  eminences 
is  bathed  in  the  luminous  vapor  which  softens  all 
colors  and  spreads  an  expression  of  tender  beauty 
over  an  entire  landscape. 

Always  the  same  English  method  of  decoration — 
on  the  one  side  a  park  and  natural  embellish- 
ments, which  it  must  be  granted,  are  beautiful  and 
adapted  to  the  climate;  on  the  other,  the  building, 
which  is  a  monstrous  jumble,  wanting  in  style, 
and  bearing  witness  not  to  taste,  but  to  English 
power.  The  interior  consists  of  a  museum  of  an- 
tiquities, composed  of  plaster  facsimiles  of  all  the 
Grecian  and  Roman  statues  scattered  over  Europe ; 
of  a  museum  of  the  Middle  Ages;  of  a  Revival 
museum;  of  an  Egyptian  museum;  of  a  Nineveh 
museum;  of  an  Indian  museum;  of  a  reproduction 
of  a  Pompeiian  house;  of  a  reproduction  of  the 
Alhambra.     The  ornaments  of  the  Alhambra  have 


25 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

been  molded,  and  these  molds  are  preserved  in  an 
adjoining  room  as  proofs  of  authenticity.  In  order 
to  omit  nothing,  copies  have  been  made  of  the  most 
notable  Italian  paintings,  and  these  are  daubs 
worthy  of  a  country  fair. 

There  is  a  huge  tropical  hothouse,  wherein  are 
fountains,  swimming  turtles,  large  aquatic  plants 
in  flower,  the  Sphinx  and  Egj'ptian  statues  sixty 
feet  high,  specimens  of  colossal  or  rare  trees, 
among  others  the  bark  of  a  Sequoia  California  450 
feet  in  height  and  measuring  116  feet  in  circum- 
ference. The  bark  is  arranged  and  fastened  to  an 
inner  framework  in  such  a  manner  as  to  give  an 
idc-a  01  the  tree  itself.  There  is  a  circular  concert 
room,  with  tiers  of  benches  as  in  a  Colosseum, 
Lastly,  in  the  gardens  are  to  be  seen  Idfe-size  re- 
productions of  antediluvian  monsters,  megatheri- 
ums, dinotheriums,  and  others.  In  these  gardens 
Blondin  does  his  tricks  at  the  height  of  a  hundred 
feet. 

I  pass  over  half  the  things;  but  does  not  this 
conglomeration  of  odds  and  ends  rarry  back  one's 
thoughts  to  the  Rome  of  Ca3sar  and  the  Antonines? 
At  that  period  also  pleasure-palaces  were  erected 
for  the  sovereign  people;  circuses,  theaters,  baths 
wherein  were  collected  statues,  painting's,  animals, 
musicians,  acrobats,  all  the  treasures  and  all  the 
oddities  of  the  world;  pantheons  of  opulence  and 
curiosity;  genuine  bazaars  where  the  liking  for 
what  was  novel,  heterogeneous,  and  fantastic 
ousted  the  feeling  of  appreciation  for  simple 
beauty. 

In  truth,  Rome  enriched  herself  with  these  things 
by  conquest,  England  by  industry.  Thus  it  is  that 
at*  Rome  the  paintings,   the  statues,  were  stolen 

26 


LONDON 


originals,  and  the  monsters,  whether  rhinoceroses 
or  lions,  were  perfectly  alive  and  tore  human  beings 
to  pieces;  whereas  here  the  statues  are  made  of 
plaster  and  the  monsters  of  goldbeater's  skin.  The 
spectacle  is  one  of  second  class,  but  of  the  same 
kind.  A  Greek  would  not  have  regarded  it  with 
satisfaction;  he  would  have  considered  it  appro- 
priate to  powerful  barbarians,  who,  trying  to  be- 
come refined,  had  utterly  failed. 


THE  TEMPLE'S  GALLERY  OF  GHOSTS 
FROM  DICKENS* 

BY  JOHN  R.  G.  HASSARD 

The  Temple  is  crowded  with  the  ghosts  of  fic- 
tion. Here  were  the  neglected  chambers,  lumbered 
with  heaps  and  parcels  of  books,  where  Tom 
Pinch  was  set  to  work  by  IVIr.  Fips,  and  where  old 
Martin  Chuzzlewit  revealed  himself  in  due  time 
and  knocked  Mr.  Pecksniff  into  a  corner.  Here 
Mr.  Mortimer  Lightwood's  dismal  office-boy  leaned 
out  of  a  dismal  window  overlooking  the  dismal 
churchyard;  and  here  Mortimer  and  Eugene  were 
visited  by  Mr.  Boffin  offering  a  large  reward  for 
the  con\dction  of  the  murderer  of  John  Harmon; 
by  that  honest  water-side  character,  Rogue  Rider- 
hood,  anxious  to  earn  "a  pot  o'  money'*  in  the 
sweat  of  his  brow  by  swearing  away  the  life  of 

♦From  "A  Pickwickian  Pilgrimage."  The  persons 
mentioned  in  Mr.  Hassard's  Pilgrimage  to  the  Temple 
and  its  neighborhood  will  be  recognized  as  characters 
in  the  novels  of  Charles  Dickens.  By  arrangement 
with,  and  by  permission  of,  the  publishers,  Houghton, 
Mifflin  Co.     Copyright,  1881. 

27 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

Gaffer  Hexam ;  by  Bradley  Headstone  and  Charley 
Hexam;  by  "Mr.  Dolls,"  negotiatiiag  for  "three- 
penn'orths  of  rum." 

It  was  in  Garden  Court  of  The  Temple,  in  the 
house  nearest  the  river,  that  Pip,  holding  his  lamp 
over  the  stall's  one  stormy  night,  saw  the  returned 
convict  climbing  up  to  his  rooms  to  disclose  the 
mystery  of  his  Great  Expectations.  Close  by  the 
gateway  from  The  Temple  into  Fleet  Street,  and 
adjoining  the  site  of  Temple  Bar,  is  Child's  an- 
cient banking  house,  the  original  of  Tellson's  Bank 
in  a  "Tale  of  Two  Cities."  The  demolition  of  Tem- 
ple Bar  made  necessary  some  alterations  in  the 
bank,  too;  and  when  I  was  last  there  the  front  of 
the  old  building  which  so  long  defied  time  and 
change  was  boarded  up. 

Chancery  Lane,  opposite  The  Temple,  running 
from  Fleet  Street  to  Holborn — a  distance  only  a 
little  gi^eater  than  that  between  the  Fifth  and  Sixth 
Avenues  in  New  York — is  the  principal  pathway 
through  the  "perplexed  and  troublous  valley  of  the 
shadow  of  the  law."  At  either  end  of  it  there  are 
fresh  green  spots;  but  the  lane  itself  is  wholly 
given  up  to  legal  dust  and  darkness.  Facing  it,  on 
the  farther  side  of  Holborn,  in  a  position  corre- 
sponding with  that  of  The  Temple  at  the  Fleet 
Street  extremity,  is  Gray's  Inn,  especially  attractive 
to  me  on  account  of  the  long  grassy  enclosure 
within  its  innermost  court,  so  smooth  and  bright 
and  well-kept  that  I  always  stopt  to  gaze  longingly 
at  it  through  the  railed  barrier  which  shuts  stran- 
gers out — as  if  here  were  a  tennis  lawn  reserved 
for  the  exclusive  use  of  frisky  baiTisters. 

At  No.  2  Holborn  Court,  in  Gray's  Inn,  David 
Copperfield,  on  his  return  from  abroad  near  the 

2S 


LONDON 


end  of  the  story,  found  the  rooms  of  that  rising- 
young  lawyer,  Mr.  Thomas  Traddles.  There  was 
a  great  scuffling'  and  scampering  when  David 
knocked  at  the  door;  for  Traddles  was  at  that  mo- 
ment playing  puss-in-the-corner  with  Sophy  and 
"the  girls."  Thavies'  Inn,  on  the  other  side  of 
Holborn,  a  little  farther  east,  is  no  longer  enclosed ; 
it  is  only  a  little  fragment  of  shabby  street  which 
starts,  with  mouth  wide  open,  to  run  out  of  Hol- 
born Circus,  and  stops  short,  after  a  few  reds, 
without  having  got  anywhere.  The  faded  houses 
look  as  if  they  belonged  to  East  Broadway;  and  in 
one  of  them  lived  Mrs.  Jellyby.     .     .     . 

The  buildings  within  the  large  enclosure  of  Lin- 
coln's Inn  are  a  strange  mixture  of  aged  dulness 
and  new  splendor;  but  the  old  houses  and  the  old 
court-rooms  seem  to  be  without  exception  dark, 
stuffy,  and  inconvenient.  Here  were  the  chambers 
of  Kenge  and  Carboy,  and  the  dirty  and  disorderly 
offices  of  Sergeant  Snubbin,  counsel  for  the  de- 
fendant in  the  suit  of  Bardell  against  Pickwick. 
Here  the  Lord  Chancellor  sat,  in  the  heart  of  the 
fog,  to  hear  the  case  of  Jarndyce  and  Jarndyce. 

At  the  back  of  the  Inn,  in  the  shabby-genteel 
square  called  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  Mr.  Tulking- 
horn  was  murdered  in  his  rusty  apartment.  The 
story  of  "Bleak  House"  revolves  about  Lincoln's 
Inn.  The  whole  neighborhood  has  an  air  of  mys- 
tery and  a  scent  like  a  stationer's  shop.  Always 
I  found  Mr.  Guppy  there,  with  a  necktie  much  too 
smart  for  the  rest  of  his  clothes,  and  a  bundle  of 
documents  tied  with  red  tape.  Jobling  and  young 
Smallweed  sometimes  stopt  to  talk  with  him.  The 
doors  of  the  crowded  court-rooms  opened  now  and 
then,  and  gentlemen  in  gowns  and  horsehair  wigs 


29 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

came  out  to  speak  with  clients  who  waited  imder 
the  arches.     .     .     . 

The  climax  of  "Bleak  House"  is  the  pursuit  of 
Lady  Dedlock,  and  the  finding  of  the  fugitive,  cold 
and  dead,  with  one  arm  around  a  rail  of  the  dark 
little  gravej^ard  where  they  buried  the  law-cop3dst, 
"Nemo,"  and  where  jDoor  Jo,  the  crossing-svv^eeper, 
came  at  night  and  swept  the  stones  as  his  last 
tribute  to  the  friend  who  "was  very  good"  to  him. 
There  are  three  striking  descriptions  of  this  place 
in  the  novel.  "A  hemmed-in  churchyard,  pestif- 
erous and  obscene — a  beastly  scrap  of  ground 
which  a  Turk  would  reject  as  a  savage  abom- 
ination, and  a  Kafir  would  shudder  at.  With 
houses  looking  on,  on  every  side,  save  where  a 
reeking  little  tunnel  of  a  court  gives  access  to  the 
iron  gate — with  every  villainy  of  life  in  action  close 
on  death,  and  every  poisonous  element  of  death  in 
action  close  on  life;  here  they  lower  our  dear 
brother  down  a  foot  or  two;  here  sow  him  in  cor- 
ruption to  be  raised  in  corruption;  an  avenging 
ghost  at  many  a  sick-bedside;  a  shameful  testi- 
mony to  future  ages  how  civilization  and  barbarism 
walked  this  boastful  island  together." 

The  exact  situation  of  the  graveyard  is  not  de- 
fined in  the  novel;  but  it  was  evidently  near  Lin- 
coln's Inn,  and  Mr.  Winter  told  us,  in  one  of  his 
delightful  London  letters,  that  it  was  also  near 
Drury  Lane.  So  strangely  hidden  away  is  it  among 
close  and  dirty  houses  that  it  was  only  after  three 
long  searches  through  all  the  courts  thereabouts 
that  I  found  the  "reeking  little  tunnel,"  and  twice 
I  passed  the  entrance  without  observing  it.  Open- 
ing out  of  Drury  Lane,  at  the  back  and  side  of  the 
theater,  is  a  network  of  narrow,  flagged  passages 

30 


LONDON 


built  up  with  tall  houses.  There  are  rag  and  waste- 
paper  shops  in  this  retreat,  two  or  three  dreadful 
little  greengrocers'  stalls,  a  pawnbroker's,  a  sur- 
prizing number  of  cobblers,  and  in  the  core  of  the 
place,  where  the  alley  widens  into  the  semblance 
of  a  dwarfed  court,  a  nest  of  dealers  in  theatrical 
finery,  dancing-shoes,  pasteboard  rounds  of  beef 
and  cutlets,  stage  armor,  and  second-hand  play- 
books.  Between  Marquis  Court  on  the  one  hand, 
Russell  Court  on  the  other,  and  a  miserable  alley 
called  Cross  Court  which  connects  them,  is  what 
appears  at  firet  sight  to  be  a  solid  block  of  tene- 
ments. The  graveyard  is  in  the  very  heart  of  this 
populous  block.  The  door  of  one  of  the  houses 
stood  open,  and  through  a  baiTed  staircase  window 
at  the  back  of  the  entry  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  a 
patch  of  grass — a  sight  so  strange  in  this  part  of 
London  that  I  went  around  to  the  other  side  of  the 
block  to  examine  further. 

There  I  found  the  "reeking  little  tunnel."  It  is 
merely  a  stone-paved  passage  about  four  feet  wide 
through  the  ground  floor  of  a  tenement.  House 
doors  open  into  it.  A  lamp  hangs  over  the  en- 
trance. A  rusty  iron  gate  closes  it  at  the  farther 
end.  Here  is  the  "pestiferous  and  obscene  church- 
yard," completely  hemmed  in  by  the  habitations  of 
the  living.  Few  of  the  graves  are  marked,  and 
most  of  the  tombstones  remaining  are  set  up  on 
end  against  the  walls  of  the  houses.  Perhaps  a 
church  stood  there  once,  but  there  is  none  now. 
Tho  burials  are  no  longer  permitted  in  this 
hideous  spot,  the  people  of  the  block,  when  they 
shut  their  dooi's  at  night,  shut  the  dead  in  with 
them.  The  dishonoring  of  the  old  graves  goes  on 
briskly.     Inside  the  gate   lay  various   rubbish — 


31' 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

a  woman's  boot,  a  broken  coal  scuttle,  the  foot  of 
a  tin  candlestick,  fragments  of  paper,  sticks,  bones, 
straw — unmentionable  abominations;  and  over  the 
dismal  scene  a  reeking,  smoke-laden  fog  spread 
darkness  and  moisture. 


THE  TEMPLE  CHURCH* 

BY  AUGUSTUS  J.  C.  HARE 

By  Inner  Temple  Lane  we  reach  the  only  exist- 
ing relic  of  the  residence  of  the  Knights  Templars 
in  these  courts,  their  magnificent  Temple  Church 
(St  Mary's),  which  fortunately  just  escaped  the 
Great  Fire  in  which  most  of  the  Inner  Temple 
perished.  The  church  was  restored  in  1839—42  at 
an  expense  of  £70,000,  but  it  has  been  ill-done,  and 
with  great  disregard  of  the  historic  memorials  it 
contained. 

It  is  entered  by  a  grand  Norman  arch  under  the 
western  porch,  which  will  remind  those  who  have 
traveled  in  France  of  the  glorious  door  of  Loches. 
This  opens  upon  the  Round  Church  of  1185  (fifty- 
eight  feet  in  diameter),  built  in  recollection  of  the 
Round  Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulcher,  one  of  the 
only  four  i-emaining  round  churches  in  England; 
the  others  being  at  Cambridge,  Northampton,  and 
Maplestead  in  Essex.  Hence,  between  graceful 
groups  of  Purbeck  marble  columns,  we  look  into 
the  later  church  of  1240;  these  two  churches,  built 
only  at  a  distance  of  fifty-five  years  from  each 
other,  forming  one  of  the  most  interesting  exam- 

♦Prom   "Walks  in   London." 

32 


LONDON 


pies  we  possess  of  the  transition  from  N'onnan  to 
Early  English  architecture.  The  Round  Church 
is  surrounded  by  an  arcade  of  narrow  Early  Eng- 
lish arches,  separated  by  a  series  of  heads,  which 
are  chiefly  restorations.  On  the  pavement  lie  two 
groups  of  restored  efugies  of  '"associates"  of  the 
Temple  (not  Knights  Templars),  carved  in  free- 
stone, being  probably  the  "eight  images  of  armed 
knights''  mentioned  by  Stow  in  159S.   .    .    . 

Against  the  wall,  behind  the  Marshalls,  is  the 
efiigy  of  Robert  Ros,  Governor  of  Carlisle  in  the 
reign  of  John.  He  was  one  of  the  great  Magna 
Charta  barons,  and  married  the  daughter  of  a  king 
of  Scotland,  but  he  was  not  a  Templar,  for  he 
wears  flowing  hair,  which  is  forbidden  by  the  rites 
of  the  Order:  at  the  close  of  his  life,  however,  he 
took  the  Templars'  habit  as  an  associate,  and  was 
buried  here  in  1227.  On  the  opposite  side  is  a 
Purbeck  marble  sarcophagus,  said  to  be  that  of 
Queen  Eleanor  of  Aciuitaine,  but  her  efiigy  is  at 
Fontevrault.  where  the  monastic  annals  prove  that 
she  took  the  veil  after  the  murder  of  Prince  Arthur. 
Henry  II.  left  flve  hundred  marks  by  his  will  for 
his  burial  in  the  Temple  Church,  but  was  also 
buried  at  Fontevrault.  Gough  considers  that  the 
tomb  here  may  be  that  of  William  Plantagenet, 
fifth  son  of  Henry  III.,  who  died  in  infancy,  and 
(according  to  Weaver)  was  buried  in  the  Temple 
in  1256. 

A  staircase  in  the  walls  leads  to  the  triforium  of 
the  Round  Church,  which  is  now  filled  with  the 
tombs,  foolishly  removed  from  the  chancel  beneath. 
Worthy  of  especial  notice  is  the  colored  kneeling 
effigv^  of  Martin,  Recorder  of  London,  and  Reader 
of  the   Middle   Temple,  1615.     Near  this  is   the 


1—3  33 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 


r — also  colored  and  under  a  canopy — of  Ed- 
mund Plowden,  the  famous  jurist,  of  whom  Lord 
Ellenborough  said  that  "better  authority  could  not 
be  cited";  and  referring  to  whom  Fuller  quaintly 
remarks:  "How  excellent  a  medley  is  made,  when 
honesty  and  ability  meet  in  a  man  of  his  profes- 
sion !"  There  is  also  a  monument  to  James  Howell 
(1594-1666),  whose  entertaining  letters,  chiefly 
written  from  the  Fleet,  give  many  curious  partic- 
ulars relating  to  the  reigns  of  James  I.  and  Charles 
I.  .  .  .The  church  (eight-two  feet  long,  fifty-eight 
wide,  thirty-seven  high),  begun  in  1185  and  finished 
in  1240,  is  one  of  our  most  beautiful  existing  speci- 
mens of  Early  English  Pointed  architecture:  "the 
roof  springing,  as  it  were,  in  a  haiTnonious  and 
accordant  fountain,  out  of  the  clustered  pillars 
that  support  its  pinioned  arches ;  and  these  pillars, 
immense  as  they  are,  polished  like  so  many  gems."* 
In  the  ornaments  of  the  ceiling  the  banner  of  the 
Templars  is  frequently  repeated — black  and  wliite, 
^'because,"  says  Fawyne,  "the  Templars  showed 
themselves  wholly  white  and  fair  toward  the  Chris- 
tians, but  black  and  terrible  to  them  that  were  mis- 
creants. The  letters  "Beausean"  are  for  "Beau- 
seant,"  their  war  cry. 

In  a  dark  hole  to  the  left  of  the  altar  is  the 
white  marble  monument  of  John  Selden,  1654, 
called  by  Milton  "the  chief  of  learned  men  reputed 
in  this  land."  The  endless  stream  of  volumes  which 
he  poured  forth  were  filled  with  research  and  dis- 
crimination. Of  these,  his  work  "On  the  Law  of 
Nature  and  of  Nations"  is  described  by  Hallam  as 
among  the  greatest  achievements  in  erudition  that 

•Hawthorne. 

34 


LONDON 


any  English  writer  has  performed,  but  he  is  per- 
haps best  known  by  his  "Table  Talk,"  of  which 
Coleridge  says,  "There  is  more  weighty  bullion  sense 
in  this  book  than  I  ever  found  in  the  same  number 
of  pages  of  any  uninspired  writer."     .     .     . 

On  the  right  of  the  choir,  near  a  handsome  mar- 
ble piscina,  is  the  effigy  of  a  bishop,  usually  shown 
as  that  of  Heraelius,  Patriarch  of  Jerusalem,  by 
whom  the  church  was  consecrated,  but  he  left  Eng- 
land in  a  fury,  after  Henry  II.  refused  to  perform 
his  vow  of  joining  the  Crusades  in  person,  to  atone 
for  the  murder  of  Becket.  The  figure  more  prob- 
ably represents  Silverston  de  Eversdon,  Bishop  of 
Carlisle,  1255.  In  the  vestry  are  monuments  to 
Lords  Eldon  and  Stowell,  and  that  of  Lord  Thur- 
low  (1S06)  by  Rossi. 

The  organ,  by  Father  Smydt  or  Smith,  is  famous 
from  the  long  competition  it  undei-went  with  one 
by  Harris.  Both  were  temporarily  erected  in  the 
church.  Blow  and  Purcell  were  employed  to  per- 
form on  that  of  Smith;  Battista  Draghi,  organist 
to  Queen  Catherine,  on  that  of  Harris.  Immense 
audiences  came  to  listen,  but  tho  the  contest  lasted 
a  year  they  could  arrive  at  no  decision.  Finally, 
it  was  left  t©  Judge  Jefferies  of  the  Inner  Temple, 
Avho  was  a  great  musician,  and  who  chose  that  of 
Smith. 


35 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 
LAMBETH— CHURCH  AND  PALACE* 

BY  AUGUSTUS  J.  C.  HARE 

The  Chnreli  of  St.  Mary,  Lambeth,  was  formerly 
one  of  the  most  interesting  churches  in  London, 
being,  next  to  Canterbury  Cathedral,  the  great 
burial  place  of  its  archbishops,  but  falling  under 
the  ruthless  hand  of  "restorers"  it  was  rebuilt  (ex- 
cept its  tower  of  1377)  in  1851-52  by  Hardwiek, 
and  its  interest  has  been  totally  destroyed,  its 
monuments  huddled  away  anywhere,  for  the  most 
part  close  under  the  roof,  where  their  inscriptions 
are  of  course  wholly  illegible !     .     .     . 

Almost  the  only  interesting  feature  retained  in 
this  cruelly  abused  building  is  the  figure  of  a  pedler 
with  his  pack  and  dog  (on  the  third  window  of  the 
north  aisle)  who  left  "Pedlar's  Acre"  to  the  parish, 
on  condition  of  his  figure  being  always  preserved 
on  one  of  the  church  windows.  The  figure  was 
existing  here  as  early  as  1608. 

In  the  churchyard,  at  the  east  end  of  the  church, 
is  an  altar  tomb,  with  the  angles  sculptured  like 
trees,  spreading  over  a  strange  confusion  of  obe- 
lisks, pj^ramids,  crocodiles,  shells,  etc.,  and,  at  one 
end,  a  hydra.  It  is  the  monument  of  John  Trades- 
cant  (1C38)  and  his  son,  two  of  the  earliest  British 
naturalists.  The  elder  was  so  enthusiastic  a  bot- 
anist that  he  joined  an  expedition  against  Algerine 
corsairs  on  purpose  to  get  a  new  apricot  from  the 
African  coast,  which  was  thenceforth  known  as 
"the  Algier  Apricot."  ITis  quaint  medley  of  curi- 
osities,  known   in   his  own  time   as   "Tradeskin's 

♦Prom   "Walks  in  London." 

36 


LONDON 


Ark,"  was  afterward  incorporated  with  the  Ash- 
inolean  Museum.    .    .    . 

''Lambeth,  envy  of  each  band  and  gown,"  has 
been  for  more  than  700  years  the  residence  of 
the  Archbishops  of  Canterbury,  tho  the  site  of  the 
present  palace  was  only  obtained  by  Archbishop 
Baldwin  in  1197,  when  he  exchanged  some  lands 
in  Kent  for  it  with  Glanville,  Bishop  of  Rochester, 
to  whose  see  it  had  been  granted  by  the  Countess 
Goda,  sister  of  the  Confessor.  The  former  propri- 
etorship of  the  Bishops  of  Rochester  is  still  com- 
memorated in  Rochester  Row,  Lambeth,  on  the  site 
of  a  house  which  was  retained  when  the  exchange 
was  made,  for  their  use  when  they  came  to  attend 
Parliament.  The  Palace  is  full  of  beauty  in  it- 
self and  intensely  interesting  from  its  associations. 
It  is  approached  by  a  noble  Gateway  of  red  brick 
with  stone  dressings,  built  by  Cardinal  Moreton  in 
1490.  It  is  here  that  the  poor  of  Lambeth  have 
received  "the  Archbishops'  Dole"  for  hundreds 
of  years.  In  ancient  times  a  farthing  loaf  was 
given  twice  a  week  to  4,000  people. 

Adjoining  the  Portei^'s  Lodge  is  a  room  e\4- 
dently  once  used  as  a  prison.  On  passing  the  gate 
we  are  in  the  outer  court,  at  the  end  of  which 
rises  the  picturesque  Lollards'  Tower,  built  by 
Archbishop  Chicheley,  1434-45;  on  the  right  is  the 
Hall.  A  second  gateway  leads  to  the  inner  court, 
containing  the  modern  (Tudor)  palace,  built  by 
Archbishop  Howley  (1828-48),  who  spent  the  whole 
of  his  private  fortune  upon  it  rather  than  let  Blore 
the  architect  be  ruined  by  exceeding  his  contract 
to  the  amount  of  £30,000.  On  the  left,  between  the 
buttresses  of  the  hall,  are  the  descendants  of  some 
famous  fig  trees  planted  by  Cardinal  Pole. 

37 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

The  Hall  was  built  by  Archbishop  Juxon  in  the 
reign  of  Charles  IL,  on  the  site  of  the  hall  built 
by  Archbishop  Boniface  (1244),  which  was  pulled 
down  by  Scot  and  Hardyng,  the  regicides,  who 
purchased  the  palace  when  it  was  sold  imder  the 
Commonwealth.  Juxon's  arms  and  the  date  1663 
are  over  the  door  leading  to  the  palace.  The 
stained  window  opposite  contains  the  arms  of 
many  of  the  archbishops,  and  a  portrait  of  Arch- 
bishop Chicheley.  Archbishop  Bancroft,  whose 
arms  appear  at  the  east  end,  turned  the  hall  into 
a  Library,  and  the  collection  of  books  which  it  con- 
tains has  been  enlarged  by  his  successoi*s,  espe- 
cially by  Archbishop  Seeker,  whose  arms  appear 
at  the  west  end,  and  who  bequeathed  his  library  to 
Lambeth.  Upon  the  death  of  Laud,  the  books 
were  saved  from  dispersion  through  being  claimed 
by  the  University  of  Cambridge,  under  the  will  of 
Bancroft,  which  provided  that  they  should  go  to 
the  University  if  alienated  from  the  see ;  they  were 
restored  by  Cambridge  to  Archbishop  Sheldon. 
The  library  contains  a  number  of  valuable  MSS., 
the  greatest  treasure  being  a  copy  of  Lord  Rivers's 
translation  of  the  "Diets  and  Sayings  of  the  Phil- 
osophers," with  an  iJlumination  of  the  Earl  pre- 
senting Caxton  on  his  knees  to  Edward  IV.  Beside 
the  King  stand  Elizabeth  Woodville  and  her  eldest 
son,  and  this,  the  only  known  portrait  of  Edward 
v.,  is  engraved  by  Vertue  in  his  Kings  of  England. 

A  glass  case  contains :  The  Four  Gospels  in  Irish, 
a  volume  which  belonged  to  King  Athelstan,  and 
was  given  by  him  to  the  city  of  Canterbury;  a 
copy  of  the  Koran  written  by  Sultan  Allaruddeen 
Siljuky  in  the  fifteenth  century,  taken  in  the 
Library    of   Tippoo    Saib    at    Seringapatam ;    the 

38 


LONDON 


Lumley  Chronicle  of  St.  Alban's  Abbey;  Queen 
Elizabeth^s  Prayer-Book,  with  illuminations  from 
Holbein's  Dance  of  Death  destroyed  in  Old  St. 
Paul's;  an  illuminated  copy  of  the  Apocalypse,  of 
the  thirteenth  century;  the  Mazarine  Testament, 
fifteenth  century;  and  the  rosary  of  Cardinal  Pole. 

A  staircase  lined  with  portraits  of  the  Walpole 
family,  leads  from  the  Library  to  the  Guard  Room, 
now  the  Dining-Hall.  It  is  surrounded  bv  an  in- 
teresting series  of  portraits  of  the  archbishops  from 
the  beginning  of  the  sixteenth  century. 

Through  the  paneled  room,  called  Cranmer's 
Parlor,  we  enter  the  Chapel,  which  stands  upon 
a  Crypt  supposed  to  belong  to  the  manor-house 
built  by  Archbishop  Herbert  Fitzwalteis  about 
1190.  Its  pillars  have  been  buried  nearly  up  to  their 
capitals,  to  prevent  the  rising  of  the  river  tides 
within  its  wall.  The  chapel  itself,  tho  greatly 
modernized,  is  older  than  any  other  part  of  the 
palace,  having  been  built  by  Archbishop  Boni- 
face, 1244-70.  Its  lancet  windows  were  found  by 
Laud — "shameful  to  look  at,  all  diversely  patched 
like  a  poor  beggar's  coat,"  and  he  filled  them  with 
stained  glass,  which  he  proved  that  he  collected 
from  ancient  existing  fragments,  tho  his  insertion 
of  "Popish  images  and  pictures  made  by  their 
like  in  a  mass  book"  was  one  of  the  articles  in  the 
impeachment  against  him.  The  glass  collected  by 
Laud  was  entirely  smashed  by  the  Puritans:  the 
present  windows  were  put  in  by  Archbishop  How- 
iey.  In  this  chapel  most  of  the  archbishops  have 
been  consecrated  since  the  time  of  Boniface.  .    .    . 

Here  Archbishop  Parker  erected  his  tomb  in  his 
lifetime  "by  the  spot  where  he  used  to  pray,"  and 
here  he  was  buried,  but  his  tomb  was  broken  up, 

39 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

with  every  insult  that  could  be  shown,  by  Scot, 
one  of  the  Puritan  possessors  of  Lambeth,  while 
the  other,  Hardyng,  not  to  be  outdone,  exhumed 
the  Archbishop's  body,  sold  its  leaden  coffin,  and 
buried  it  in  a  dunghill.  His  remains  were  found 
by  Sir  William  Dugdale  at  the  Restoration,  and 
honorably  reinterred  in  front  of  the  altar,  with  the 
epitaph,  "Corpus  Mattha3i  Archiepiseopi  tandem 
hie  quiescit."  His  tomb,  in  the  ante-chapel,  was  re- 
erected  by  Archbishop  Sancroft,  but  the  brass  in- 
scription which  encircled  it  is  gone. 

The  screen,  erected  by  Laud,  was  suffered  to  sur- 
vive the  Commonwealth.  At  the  west  end  of  the 
chapel,  high  on  the  wall,  projects  a  Gothic  confes- 
sional, erected  by  Archbishop  Chicheley.  It  was 
formerly  approached  by  seven  steps.  The  beauti- 
ful western  door  of  the  chapel  opens  into  the  curi- 
ous Post  Room,  which  takes  its  name  from  the  cen- 
tral wooden  pillar,  supposed  to  have  been  used  as 
a  whipping-post  for  the  Lollards.  The  ornamented 
flat  ceiling  which  we  see  here  is  extremely  rare. 
The  door  at  the  northeast  corner,  by  which  the 
Lollards  were  brought  in,  was  walled  up,  about 
1874. 

Hence  we  ascend  the  Lollard's*  Tower,  built  by 
Chicheley — the  lower  story  of  which  is  now  given 
up  by  the  Archbishop  for  the  use  of  Bishops  who 
have  no  fixt  residence  in  London.  The  winding 
staircase,  of  rude  slabs  of  unplaned  oak,  on  which 
the  bark  in  many  eases  remains,  is  of  Chicheley's 
time.    In  a  room  at  the  top  is  a  trap-door,  through 

♦The  name  Lollard  was  used  as  a  term  of  reproach 
for  the  followers  of  Wyclif.  Formerly  derived  from 
Peter  Lollard,  a  Waldensian  pastor  of  the  thirteenth 
century,  more  recently  from  the  Middle  Dutch  "lollen," 
to  hum. 

40 


LONDON 


which  as  the  tide  rose  prisoners,  secretly  con- 
demned, could  be  let  down  unseen  into  the  river. 
Hard  by  is  the  famous  Lollard's  Prison  (13  feet 
long,  12  broad,  8  high),  boarded  all  over  walls, 
ceiling,  and  floor.  The  rough-hewn  boards  bear 
many  fragments  of  inscriptions  which  show  that 
others  besides  Lollards  were  immured  here.  Some 
of  them,  especially  his  motto  "Nosce  te  ipsum," 
are  attributed  to  Cranmer.  The  most  legible  in- 
scription is  ^'IHS  cyppe  me  out  of  all  al  corn- 
pane.  Amen."  Other  boards  bear  the  notches  cut 
by  prisoners  to  mark  the  lapse  of  time.  The 
eight  rings  remain  to  which  the  prisoners  were 
secured :  one  feels  that  his  companions  must  have 
envied  the  one  by  the  window.  Above  some  of  the 
rings  the  boards  are  burned  with  the  hot-iron  used 
in  torture.  The  door  has  a  wocden  lock,  and  is 
fastened  by  the  wooden  pegs  which  preceded  the 
use  of  nails;  it  is  a  relic  of  Archbishop  Sud- 
bury's palace  facing  the  river,  which  was  pulled 
down  by  Chicheley.  From  the  roof  of  the  chapel 
there  is  a  noble  view  up  the  river,  with  the  quaint 
tourelle  of  the  Lollard's  Tower  in  the  foreground. 
The  gardens  of  Lambeth  are  vast  and  delight- 
ful. Their  terrace  is  called  "Clarendon's  Walk" 
from  a  conftTencc  which  there  took  place  between 
Laud  and  the  Earl  of  Clarendon.  The  "summer- 
house  of  exquisite  workmanship,"  built  by  Cran- 
mer, has  disappeared.  A  picturesque  view  may 
be  obtained  of  Cranmer's  Tower,  with  the  Chapel 
and  the  Lollard's  Tower  behind  it. 


41' 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 
DICKENS'S   LIMEHOUSE  HOLE* 

BY  JOHN  R.  G.  HASSARD 

I  took  a  steamboat  one  day  at  Westminster 
Bridge,  and  after  a  voyage  of  40  minutes  or  so 
landed  near  Limebouse  Hole,  and  followed  tbe 
river  streets  botb  east  and  west.  It  was  easy 
enougb  to  trace  tbe  course  of  Mortimer  Ligbtwood 
and  Eugene  Wrayburn,  as  tbey  walked  under  tbe 
guidance  of  Riderbood  tbrough  tbe  stormy  nigbt 
from  tbeir  rooms  in  Tbe  Temple,  four  miles  away, 
past  tbe  Tower  and  tbe  London  Docks,  and  down 
by  tbe  slippery  water's  edge  to  Limebouse  Hole, 
wben  tbey  went  to  cause  Gaffer  Hexam's  arrest, 
and  found  him  drowned,  tied  to  bis  own  boat. 
Tbe  strictly  commercial  aspect  of  tbe  Docks — tbe 
London  Docks  above  and  tbe  West  India  Docks 
below — sbades  off  by  sligbt  degrees  into  tbe  black 
misery  of  the  bole.  Tbe  warehouses  are  succeeded 
by  boat-builders'  sheds ;  by  private  wharves,  where 
ships,  all  hidden,  as  to  their  bulls,  behind  walls 
and  close  fences,  thrust  unexpected  bowsprits  over 
the  narrow  roadway ;  by  lime-yards ;  by  the  shops 
of  marine  store-dealers  and  purveyors  to  all  the 
wants  and  follies  of  seamen;  and  then  by  a  vari- 
ety of  strange  establishments  which  it  would  be 
burd  to  classify. 

Close  by  a  yard  piled  up  with  crates  and  bar- 
rels of  second-hand  bottles,  was  a  large  brick  ware- 

*From  "A  Pickwickian  Pilgrimage."  The  persons 
mentioned  in  Mr.  Hassard's  account  of  Limeliouse 
Hole  will  be  recognized  as  characters  in  the  novels  of 
Charles  Dickens.  By  arrangement  witli,  and  by  per- 
miHsion  of,  the  publishers,  Houghton,  Mifflin  Co.  Copy- 
right, 1881. 

42 


LONDON 


house  devoted  to  the  purchase  and  sale  of  broken 
glass.  A  wagon  loaded  with  that  commodity  stood 
before  the  door,  and  men  with  scoop-sho-^^Is  were 
transferring  the  glass  into  baiTels.  An  enclosure 
of  one  or  two  acres,  in  an  out-of-the-way  street, 
might  have  been  the  original  of  the  dust-yard 
that  contained  Boffin's  Bower,  except  that  Boffin's 
Bower  was  several  miles  distant,  on  the  northern 
outskirt  of  London.  A  string  of  carts,  full  of  mis- 
ceHaneous  street  and  house  rubbish,  all  called  here 
by  the  general  name  of  "dust,"  were  waiting  their 
turn  to  discharge.  There  was  a  mountain  of  this 
refuse  at  the  end  of  the  yard;  and  a  party  of 
laborer,  more  or  less  impeded  by  two  very  active 
black  hogs,  were  sifting  and  sorting  it.  Other 
mounds,  formed  from  the  siftings  of  the  first, 
were  visible  at  the  sides.  There  were  huge  accu- 
mulations of  broken  crockery  and  of  scraps  of  tin 
and  other  metal,  and  of  bones.  There  was  a  quan- 
tity of  stable-manure  and  old  straw,  and  a  heap, 
as  large  as  a  two-story  cottage,  of  old  hoops  stript 
from  casks  and  packing-cases.  I  never  under- 
stood, until  I  looked  into  this  yard,  how  there 
could  have  been  so  much  value  in  the  dust-mounds 
at   Boffin's   Bower. 

Gradually  the  streets  became  narrower,  wetter, 
dirtier,  and  poorer.  Hideous  little  alleys  led  down 
to  the  water's  edge  where  the  high  tide  splashed 
over  the  stone  steps.  I  turned  into  several  of  them, 
and  I  always  found  two  or  three  muddy  men 
lounging  at  the  bottom;  often  a  foul  and  furtive 
boat  crept  across  the  field  of  view.  The  character  of 
the  shops  became  more  and  more  difficult  to  de- 
fine. Here  a  window  displayed  a  heap  of  sailor's 
thimbles  and  pack-thread;  there  another  set  forth 


43 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

an  array  of  trumpery  glass  vases  or  a  basket  of 
stale  fruit,  pretexts,  perhaps,  for  the  disguise  of 
a  "leaving  shop,"  or  unlicensed  pawnbroker's  es- 
tablishment, out  of  which  I  expected  to  see  Miss 
Pleasant  Riderhood  come  forth,  twisting  up  her 
back  hair  as  she  came.  At  a  place  where  the 
houses  ceased,  and  an  open  space  left  free  a  pros- 
pect of  the  black  and  bad-smelling  river,  there 
was  an  old  factory,  disused  and  ruined,  like  the 
ancient  mill  in  which  Gaffer  Hexam  made  his 
home,  and  Lizzie  told  the  fortunes  of  her  brother 
in  the  hollow  by  the  fire. 

I  turned  down  a  muddy  alley,  where  12  or  15 
placards  headed  "Body  Found,"  were  pasted 
against  the  wall.  They  were  printed  forms,  filled 
in  with  a  pen.  Mr.  Forster  tells  us  in  his  life  of 
Dickens  that  it  was  the  sight  of  bills  of  this  sort 
which  gave  the  first  suggestion  of  "Our  Mutual 
Friend."  At  the  end  of  the  alley  was  a  neat  brick 
police-station;  stairs  led  to  the  water,  and  several 
trim  boats  were  moored  there.  Within  the  station 
I  could  see  an  officer  quietly  busy  at  his  desk,  as 
if  he  had  been  sitting  there  ever  since  Dickens 
described  "the  Night  Inspector,  with  a  pen  and  ink 
ruler,  posting  up  his  books  in  a  whitewashed  office 
as  studiously  as  if  he  were  in  a  monastery  on  the 
top  of  a  mountain,  and  no  howling  fui'y  of  a 
drunken  woman  were  banging  herself  against  a 
cell-door  in  the  back  yard  at  his  el'bow."  A  hand- 
some young  fellow  in  uniform,  who  looked  like  a 
cross  between  a  sailor  and  a  constable,  came  out 
and  asked  very  civilly  if  he  could  be  of  use  to 
me.  "Do  you  know,"  said  I,  "where  the  station 
was  that  Dickens  describes  in  ^Our  Mutual 
Friend'?" 

44 


LONDON 


"Oh,  yes,  sir!  this  is  the  very  spot.  It  was  the 
old  building  that  stood  just  here :  this  is  a  new  one, 
but  it  has  been  put  up  in  the  same  place." 

"Mr.  Dickens  oft^n  went  out  with  your  men  in 
the  boat,  didn't   hef 

"Yes,  sir,  many  a  night  in  the  old  times." 

"Do  you  know  the  tavern  which  is  described  in 
the  same  book  by  the  name  of  The  Six  Jolly  Fel- 
lowship  Porters?" 

"No,  sir,  I  don^t  know  it;  at  least  not  by  that 
name.  It  may  have  been  pulled  down,  for  a  lot 
of  warehouses  have  been  built  along  here,  and 
the  place  is  very  much  changed;  or  it  may  be  one 
of  those  below." 

Of  course,  I  chose  to  think  that  it  must  be  "one 
of  those  below."  I  kept  on  a  little  farther,  by 
the  crooked  river  lanes,  where  public  houses  were 
as  plentiful  as  if  the  entire  population  suffered 
from  a  raging  and  inextinguishable  thirst  for  beer. 
The  sign-boards  displayed  a  preference  for  the 
plural  which  seems  not  to  have  escaped  the  ob- 
servation of  the  novelist.  If  I  did  not  see  The 
Six  Porters,  I  came  across  The  Three  Mariners, 
The  Tliree  Cups,  The  Three  Suns,  The  Three 
Tuns,  The  Three  Foxes,  and  the  Two  Brewers; 
and  in  the  last  I  hope  that  I  found  the  original  of 
the  tavern  so  often  mentioned  in  the  story. 

I  had  first  noticed  it  from  the  steamboat — "a 
narrow,  lop-sided  wooden  jumble  of  corpulent 
windows  heaped  one  upon  another  as  you  might 
heap  as  many  toppling  oranges,  with  a  crazy 
wooden  veranda  impending  over  the  water," — a 
tavern  of  dropsical  appearance,  which  had  not  a 
straight  floor  in  its  whole  constitution,  and  hardly 
a  straight  line.    I  got  at  the  entrance  on  the  land 


45 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

side  after  a  search  among  puzzling  alleys,  and 
there  I  found  still  stronger  reminders  of  "Our 
Mutual  Friend."  Stuck  against  the  wall  was  an 
array  of  old  and  new  hand-bills,  headed, 
"Drowned,"  and  offering  rewards  for  the  recov- 
ery of  bodies.  The  value  set  upon  dead  persons 
in  Limehouse  Hole  is  not  excessive :  the  customary 
recompense  for  finding  them  seems  to  be  ten  shil- 
lings, and  in  only  one  instance  did  the  price  reach 
the  dazzling  amount  of  one  pound. 

By  the  side  of  the  house  is  an  approach  to  the 
river:  most  of  the  buildings  near  are  old  and  ir- 
regular, and  at  low  tide  a  great  deal  of  the  shore 
must  be  exposed.  Going  upon  the  slippery  stones, 
beside  which  lay  a  few  idle  and  rickety  boats,  I 
found  the  expected  range  of  windows  wuth  "red 
curtains  matching  the  noses  of  the  regular  cus- 
tomers." I  looked  in  at  the  door.  A  long  passage 
opened  a  vista  of  pleasant  bar-parlor,  or  what- 
ever it  may  have  been,  on  tlie  river-side;  and,  per- 
haps, I  should  have  seen  Miss  Abbey  Potterson  if 
I  had  gone  to  the  end.  Several  water-side  char- 
acters were  drinking  beer  at  the  lead-covered  coun- 
ter, waited  upon  by  a  sharp  young  woman,  who 
seems  to  have  replaced  Bob  Gliddeiy.  Instead  of 
the  little  room  called  "Cozy,"  where  the  Police  In- 
spector drank  burned  sherry  with  Lightwood  and 
Wrayburn,  there  was  an  apartment  labelled  "The 
Club."  A  party  of  "regular  customers,"  all  evi- 
dently connected  with  water  (or  mud),  sat  around 
a  table:  beyond  question  they  were  Tootle,  and 
Mullins,  and  Bob  Glamour,  and  Captain  Joey; 
and  at  ten  o'clock  Miss  Abbey  would  issue  from 
the  bar-parlor,  and  send  them  home.  If  The  Jolly 
Pellowship  Porters  is  still  extant,  this  must  be  it. 

46 


LONDON 


WHITEHALL* 

BY    AUGUSTUS    J.    C.    HAEE 

The  present  Banqueting-House  of  Whitehall  was 
begun  by  Inigo  Jones,  and  completed  in  1622, 
forming  only  the  central  portion  of  one  wing  in 
his  immense  design  for  a  new  palace,  which,  if 
completed,  would  have  been  the  finest  in  the 
world.  The  masonry  is  by  a  master-mason,  Nich- 
olas Stone,  several  of  whose  works  we  have  seen 
in  other  parts  of  London.  "Little  did  James  think 
that  he  was  raising  a  pile  from  which  his  son 
was  to  step  from  the  throne  to  a  scaffold."  The 
plan  of  Inigo  Jones  would  have  covered  24  acres, 
and  one  may  best  judge  of  its  intended  size  by 
comparison  with  other  buildings.  Hampton  Court 
covers  8  acres;  St.  James's  Palace,  4  acres;  Buck- 
ingham Palace,  2V2  acres.  It  would  have  been 
as  large  as  Versailles,  and  larger  than  the  Louvre. 
Inigo  Jones  received  only  8s.  4d.  a  day  while  he 
was  employed  at  Whitehall,  and  £46  per  annum 
for  house-rent.  The  huge  palace  always  remained 
unfinished. 

Whitehall  attained  its  greatest  splendor  in  the 
reign  of  Charles  I.  The  mask  of  Comus  was  one  of 
the  plays  acted  here  before  the  king;  but  Charles 
was  so  afraid  of  the  pictures  in  the  Banqueting- 
House  being  injured  by  the  number  of  wax  lights 
which  were  used,  that  he  built  for  the  purpose  a 
boarded  room  called  the  "King's  Masking-House," 
afterward  destroyed  by  the  Parliament.  The  gal- 
lery toward  Pri\^  Garden  was  used  for  the  king's 

♦From   "Walks  in  London." 

47 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

collection  of  pictures,  afterward  either  sold  or 
burned.  The  Banqueting'-House*  was  the  scene  of 
hospitalities  almost  boundless. 

The  different  accounts  of  Charles  I.'s  execution 
introduce  us  to  several  names  of  the  rooms  in  the 
old  palace.  We  are  able  to  follow  him  through 
the  whole  of  the  last  scenes  of  the  30th  of  January, 
1648.  When  he  arrived,  having  walked  from  St. 
James's,  "the  King  went  up  the  stairs  leading  to 
the  Long  Gallery"  of  Henry  VIII,  and  so  to  the 
west  side  of  the  palace.  In  the  "Horn  Chamber" 
he  was  given  up  to  the  officers  who  held  the  war- 
rant for  his  execution.  Then  he  passed  on  to  the 
"Cabinet  Chamber,"  looking  upon  Privy  Garden. 
Here,  the  scaffold  not  being  ready,  he  prayed  and 
conversed  with  Bishop  Juxon,  ate  some  bread, 
and  drank  some  claret.  Several  of  the  Puritan 
clergy  knocked  at  the  door  and  offered  to  pray 
with  him,  but  he  said  that  they  had  prayed  against 
him  too  often  for  him  to  wish  to  pray  with  them 
in  his  last  moments.  Meanwhile,  in  a  small  dis- 
tant room,  Cromwell  was  signing  the  order  to  the 
executioner,  and  workmen  were  employed  in  break- 
ing a  passage  through  the  west  wall  of  the  Ban- 
queting House,  that  the  warrant  for  the  execution 
might  be  carried  out  which  ordained  it  to  be  held 
"in   the   open    street    before   Whitehall."  .... 

Almost  from  the  time  of  Charles's  execution 
Cromwell  occupied  rooms  in  the  Cockpit,  where 
the  Treasury  is  now,  but  soon  after  he  was  in- 
stalled "Lord  Protector  of  the  Commonwealth"  (De- 
cember 16,  1653),  he  took  up  his  abode  in  the  royal 
apartments,  with  his  "Lady  Protectress"  and  his 
family.  Cromwell's  puritanical  tastes  did  not  make 
him   averse   to   the   luxury   he   found   there,   and, 

48 


LONDON 


when  Evelyn  visited  Whitehall  after  a  long  in- 
terval in  1656,  he  found  it  "very  glorious  and  well 
famished."  But  the  Protectress  could  not  give 
up  her  habits  of  nimble  housewifely,  and  "em- 
ployed a  surveyor  to  make  her  some  little  laby- 
rinths and  trap-stairs,  by  which  she  might,  at  all 
times,  unseen,  pass  to  and  fro,  and  come  una- 
wares upon  her  servants,  and  keep  them  vigilant 
in  their  places  and  honest  in  the  discharge  there- 
of." With  Cromwell  in  Whitehall  lived  Milton, 
as  his  Latin  Secretary.  Here  the  Protector's 
daughters,  Mrs.  Rich  and  Mrs.  Claypole,  were 
married,  and  here  Oliver  Cromwell  died  (September 
3,  1658)  while  a  great  storm  was  raging  which  tore 
up  the  finest  elms  in  the  Park,  and  hurled  them 
to  the  ground,  beneath  the  northern  windows  of 
the  palace. 

In  the  words  of  Hume,  Cromwell  upon  his  death- 
bed "assumed  more  the  character  of  a  mediator, 
interceding  for  his  people,  than  that  of  a  criminal, 
whose  atrocious  violation  of  social  duty  had,  from 
every  tribunal,  human  and  divine,  merited  the 
severest  vengeance."  Ha\-ing  inquired  of  God- 
win, the  divine  w^ho  attended  him,  whether  a  per- 
son who  had  once  been  in  a  state  of  grace  could 
afterward  be  damned,  and  being  assured  it  was 
impossible,  he  said,  "Then  I  am  safe,  for  I  am  sure 
that  I  was  once  in  a  state  of  grace."  Richard 
Cromwell  continued  to  reside  in  Whitehall  till  his 
resignation  of  the  Protectorate. 

On  his  birthday,  the  29th  of  May,  1660,  Charles 
II  returned  to  Whitehall.  The  vast  labyrinthine 
chambers  of  the  palace  were  soon  filled  to  over- 
flowing by  his  crowded  court.  The  queen's  rooms 
were  facing  the  river  to  the  east  of  the  Water 

1—4  49 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

Gate.  Prince  Rupert  had  rooms  in  the  Stone 
Gallery,  which  ran  along  the  south  side  of  Privy 
Gardens,  beyond  the  main  buildings  of  the  palace, 
and  beneath  him  were  the  apartments  of  the  king's 
mistresses,  Barbara  Palmer,  Countess  of  Castle- 
maine,  afterward  Duchess  of  Cleveland,  and  Louise 
de  Querouaille,  Duchess  of  Portsmouth.  The  rooms 
of  the  lattei*,  who  first  came  to  England  with  Hen- 
rietta, Duchess  of  Orleans,  to  entice  Charles  II 
into  an  alliance  with  Louis  XIV.,  and  whose 
"childish,  simple,  baby-face"  is  described  by  Eve- 
lyn, were  three  times  rebuilt  to  please  her,  having 
"ten  times  the  richness  and  glory"  of  the  queen's. 
Nell  Gwynne  did  not  live  in  the  palace,  tho  she  was 
one  of  Queen  Catherine's  Maids  of  Honor! 

Charles  died  in  Whitehall  on  February  6,  1684. 
With  his  successor  the  character  of  the  palace 
changed.  James  II,  who  continued  to  make  it  his 
principal  residence,  established  a  Roman  Catholic 
chapel  there. 

It  was  from  Whitehall  that  Queen  Mary  Bea- 
trice made  her  escape  on  the  night  of  December 
9,  1688.  The  adventure  was  confided  to  the  Count 
de  Lauzun  and  his  friend  M.  de  St.  Victor,  a  gen- 
tleman of  Avig-nou.  The  queen  on  that  terrible 
evening  entreated  vainly  to  be  allowed  to  remain 
and  share  the  perils  of  her  husband;  he 
assured  her  that  it  was  absolutely  necessary 
that  she  should  precede  him,  and  that  he 
would  follow  her  in  twenty-four  hours.  The 
king  and  queen  went  to  bed  as  usual  to  avoid 
suspicion,  but  rose  soon  after,  when  the  queen 
put  on  a  disguise  provided  by  St.  Victor.  The 
royal  pair  then  descended  to  the  rooms  of  Madame 
de  Labadie,  where  they  found  Lauzun,  with  the 

50 


LONDON 


infant  Prince  James  and  his  two  nurses.  The 
king,  turning  to  Lau2un,  said,  '"I  confide  my  queen 
and  my  son  to  your  care:  all  must  be  hazarded  to 
convey  them  with  the  utmost  speed  to  France." 
Lauzun  then  gave  his  hand  to  the  queen  to  lead 
her  away,  and,  followed  bj^  the  two  nurses  with 
the  child,  they  crossed  the  Great  Gallery,  and  de- 
scended by  a  back  staircase  and  a  postem  gate  to 
Privy  Gardens.  At  the  garden  gate  a  coach  was 
waiting,  the  queen  entered  with  Lauzun,  the 
nurses,  and  her  child,  w^ho  slept  the  whole  time, 
St.  Victor  mounted  by  the  coachman,  and  they 
drove  to  the  "Horse  Ferry"  at  Westminster,  where 
a  boat  was  waiting  in  which  they  crossed  to  Lam- 
beth. 

On  the  11th  the  Dutch  troops  had  entered  Lon- 
don, and  James,  having  commanded  the  gallant 
Lord  Craven,  who  was  prepared  to  defend  the 
palace  to  the  utmost,  to  draw  off  the  guard  which 
he  commanded,  escaped  himself  in  a  boat  from 
the  water-entrance  of  the  palace  at  three  o'clock  in 
the  morning.  At  Feversham  his  flight  was  ar- 
rested, and  he  returned  amid  bonfires,  bell-ringing, 
and  every  symptom  of  joy  from  the  fickle  popu- 
lace. Once  more  he  slept  in  Whitehall,  but  in  the 
middle  of  the  night  was  aroused  by  order  of  his 
son-in-law,  and  humed  forcibly  down  the  river 
to  Rochester,  whence,  on  December  23,  he  escaped 
to  France.  On  the  25th  of  November  the  Prin- 
cess Anne  had  declared  against  her  unfortunate 
father,  by  absconding  at  night  by  a  back  staircase 
from  her  lodgings  in  the  Cockpit,  as  the  north- 
western angle  of  the  palace  was  called,  which 
looked  on  St.  James's  Park.  Compton,  Bishop  of 
London,    was    waiting    for   her    with    a    hackney 


51 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

coach,  and  she  fled  to  his  house  in  Aldersgate 
Street.  Mary  II  arrived  in  the  middle  of  Febru- 
ary, and  "came  into  Whitehall,  jolly  as  to  a  wed- 
ding, seeming  quite  transported  with  joy." 

But  the  glories  of  Whitehall  were  now  over. 
William  III.,  occupied  with  his  buildings  at 
Hampton  Court  and  Kensington,  never  cared  to 
live  there,  and  Mary  doubtless  stayed  there  as 
little  as  possible,  feeling  opprest  by  the  recollec- 
tions of  her  youth  spent  there  with  an  indulgent 
father  whom  she  had  cruelly  wronged,  and  a  step- 
mother whom  she  had  once  loved  with  sisterly  as 
well  as  filial  affection,  and  from  whom  she  had 
parted  with  passionate  grief  on  her  marriage, 
only  nine  years  before.  The  Stone  Gallery  and 
the  late  apartments  of  the  royal  mistresses  in 
Whitehall  were  burned  down  in  1691,  and  the  whole 
edifice  w^as  almost  totally  destroyed  by  fire  through 
the  negligence  of  a  Dutch  maidservant  in  1697. 

The  principal  remaining  fragment  of  the  palace 
is  the  Banqueting-Ilouse  of  Inigo  Jones,  from 
which  Charles  I.  passed  to  execution.  Built  in 
the  dawn  of  the  style  of  Wren,  it  is  one  of  the 
most  grandiose  examples  of  that  style,  and  is  per- 
fect alike  in  symmetry  and  proportion.  That  it 
has  no  entrance  apparent  at  first  sight  is  due  to 
the  fact  that  it  was  only  intended  as  a  portion  of 
a  larger  building.  In  the  same  way  we  must  re- 
member that  the  appearance  of  two  stories  ex- 
ternally, while  the  whole  is  one  room,  is  due  to  the 
Banqueting-PIouse  being  only  one  of  .four  intended 
blocks,  of  which  one  was  to  be  a  chapel  surrounded 
by  galleries,  and  the  other  two  divided  into  two 
tiers  of  apartments.  The  Banqueting-House  was 
turned  into  a  chapel  by  George  L,  but  has  never 

52 


LONDON 


been  consecrated,  and  the  aspect  of  a  hall  is  re- 
tained by  the  ugly  false  red  curtains  which  sur- 
round the  interior  of  the  building.  It  is  called 
the  Chapel  Royal  of  Whitehall,  is  served  by  the 
chaplains  of  the  sovereig-n,  and  is  one  of  the 
dreariest  places  of  worship  in  London.  The  ceil- 
ing is  still  decorated  with  canvas  pictures  by  Ru- 
bens (1635)  representing  the  apotheosis  of  James 
I.  The  painter  received  £3,000  for  these  works. 
The  walls  were  to  have  been  painted  by  Vandyke 
with  the  History  of  the  Order  of  the  Garter. 
"What,"  says  Walpole,  '^had  the  Banqueting-House 
been  if  completed?"  Over  the  entrance  is  a 
bronze  bust  of  James  I.  attributed  to  Le  Soeur. 


THE  TOWER* 

BY  W.  HEPWORTH  DIXOX 

Half-a-mile  below  London  Bridge,  on  ground 
"which  was  once  a  bluff,  commanding  the  Thames 
from  St.  Saviour's  Creek  to  St.  Olave's  Wharf, 
stands  the  Tower;  a  mass  of  ramparts,  walls,  and 
gates,  the  most  ancient  and  most  poetic  pile  in 
Europe.  .  .  .  The  Tower  has  an  attraction  for  us 
akin  to  that  of  the  house  in  which  we  were  born, 
the  school  in  which  we  were  trained.  Go  where 
we  may,  that  grim  old  edifice  on  the  Pool  goes 
with  us;  a  part  of  all  we  know,  and  of  all  we  are. 
Put  seas  between  us  and  the  Thames,  this  Tower 
will  cling  to  us,  like  a  thing  of  life.  It  colors 
Shakespeare's  page.  It  casts  a  momentary  gloom 
over   Bacon's   story.     Many   of   our   books    were 

♦From  "Her  Majesty's  Tower," 

63 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

written  in  its  vaults;  the  Duke  of  Orleans's 
"Poesies/'  Raleigh's  "Historic  of  the  World,"  El- 
iot's "Monarchy  of  Man/'  and  Penn's  "No  Cross, 
No  Crown." 

Even  as  to  length  of  days,  the  Tower  has  no 
rival  among  places  and  prisons,  its  origin,  like 
that  of  the  Iliad,  that  of  the  Sphinx,  that  of  the 
Newton  Stone,  being  lost  in  the  nebulous  ages, 
long  before  our  definite  history  took  shape.  Old 
writers  date  it  from  the  days  of  Caesar;  a  legend 
taken  up  by  Shakespeare  and  the  poets  in  favor 
of  which  the  name  of  Caesar's  tower  remains  in 
popular  use  to  this  very  day.  A  Roman  wall  can 
even  yet  be  traced  near  some  parts  of  the  ditch. 
The  Tower  is  mentioned  in  the  Saxon  Chronicle 
in  a  way  not  incompatible  with  the  fact  of  a 
Saxon  stronghold  having  stood  upon  this  spot. 
The  buildings  as  we  have  them  now  in  block  and 
plan  were  commenced  by  William  the  Conqueror; 
and  the  series  of  apartments  in  Caesar's  tower — 
hall,  gallery,  council-chamber,  chapel — were  built 
in  the  early  Norman  reigns,  and  used  as  a  royal 
residence  by  all  our  Norman  kings.  What  can 
Europe  show  to  compare  against  such  a  tale? 

Set  against  the  Tower  of  London — with  its 
800  years  of  historic  life,  its  1,900  prisons  of  tra- 
ditional fame — all  other  palaces  and  prisons  ap- 
pear like  things  of  an  hour.  The  oldest  bit  of 
palace  in  Europe,  that  of  the  west  front  of  the 
Burg  in  Vienna,  is  of  the  time  of  Henry  the  Third. 
The  Kremlin  in  Moscow,  the  Doge's  Palazzo  in 
Venice,  are  of  the  fourteenth  century.  The  Serag- 
lio in  Stamboul  was  built  by  Mohammed  the 
Second.  The  oldest  part  of  the  Vatican  was  com- 
menced by  Borgia,  whose  name  it  bears.    The  old 

54 


LONDON 


Louvre  was  commenced  in  the  reign  of  Henry  the 
Eighth;  the  Tuilleries  in  that  of  Elizabeth.  In 
the  time  of  our  civil  war  Versailles  was  yet  a 
swamp.  Sans  Souci  and  the  Escurial  belong  to  the 
eighteenth  century.  The  Serail  of  Jerusalem 
is  a  Turkish  edifice.  The  palaces  of  Athens,  of 
Cairo,  of  Teheran,  are  all  of  modern  date. 

Neither  can  the  prisons  which  remain  in  fact  as 
well  as  in  history  and  drama — with  the  one  excep- 
tion of  St.  Angelo  in  Rome — compare  with  the 
Tower.  The  Bastile  is  gone;  the  Bargello  has 
become  a  museum;  the  Piombi  are  removed  from 
the  Doge's  roof.  Vincennes,  Spandau,  Spilberg, 
Magdeburg,  are  all  modern  in  comparison  with  a 
jail  from  which  Ralph  Flambard  escaped  so  long 
ago  in  the  year  1100,  the  date  of  the  First  Cru- 
sade. 

Standing  on  Tower  Hill,  looking  down  on  the 
dark  lines  of  wall — picking  out  keep  and  turret, 
bastion  and  ballium,  chapel  and  belfry — the  jewel- 
house,  armory,  the  mounts,  the  casemates,  the 
©pen  leads,  the  Bye-ward-gate,  the  Belfry,  the 
Bloody  tower — the  whole  edifice  seems  alive  with 
story — the  story  of  a  nation's  highest  splendor,  its 
deepest  misery,  and  its  darkest  shame.  The  soil 
beneath  your  feet  is  richer  in  blood  than  many  a 
great  battle-field;  for  out  upon  this  sod  has  been 
poured,  from  generation  to  generation,  a  stream  of 
the  noblest  life  in  our  land. 

Should  you  have  come  to  this  spot  alone,  in 
the  early  days  when  the  Tower  is  noisy  with  mar- 
tial doings,  you  maj^  haply  catch  in  the  hum  which 
rises  from  the  ditch  and  issues  from  the  wall  be- 
low you — broken  by  roll  of  drum,  by  blast  of 
bugle,  by  tramp   of  soldiers — some  echoes,   as  it 

55 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

were,  of  a  far-off  time,  some  hints  of  a  Mayday 
revel,  of  a  state  execution,  of  a  royal  entry.  You 
may  catch  some  sound  which  recalls  the  thrum 
of  a  queen's  virginal,  the  cry  of  a  victim  on  the 
rack,  the  laughter  of  a  bridal  feast.  For  all  these 
sights  and  sounds — the  dance  of  love  and  the 
dance  of  death — are  part  of  that  gay  and  tragic 
memory  which  clings  around  the  Tower. 

From  the  reign  of  Stephen  down  to  that  of 
Henry  of  Richmond,  Caesar's  tower  (the  gi'eat  Nor- 
man keep,  now  called  the  White  Tower),  was  a 
main  part  of  the  royal  palace;  and  for  that  large 
interval  of  time  the  story  of  the  White  Tower  is 
in  some  part  that  of  our  English  society  as 
well  as  of  our  English  kings.  Here  were  kept 
the  royal  wardrobe  and  the  royal  jewels;  and 
hither  came  with  their  goody  wares  the  tiremen, 
the  goldsmiths,  the  chasers  and  embroiderers,  from 
Flanders,  Italy,  and  Almaigne.  Close  by  were 
the  Mint,  the  lion's  den,  the  old  archery-grounds, 
the  Court  of  King's  Bench,  the  Court  of  Common 
Pleas,  the  Queen's  gardens,  the  royal  banqueting- 
hall,  so  that  art  and  trade,  science  and  manners, 
literature  and  law,  sport  and  polities,  find  them- 
selves equally  at  home. 

Two  great  architects  designed  the  main  parts 
of  the  Tower:  Gundulf  the  Weeper  and  Henry 
the  Builder;  one  a  poor  Norman  monk,  the  other 
a  great  English  king. 

Gundulf,  a  Benedictine  friar,  had,  for  that  age, 
seen  a  great  deal  of  the  world;  for  he  had  not 
only  lived  in  Rouen  and  Caen,  but  had  traveled 
in  the  East.  Familiar  with  the  glories  of  Sara- 
cenic art,  no  less  than  with  the  Norman  simplicities 
of  Bee,   St.   Ouen,   and   St.   Etienne,   a  pupil  of 

56 


LONDON 


Lanfranc,  a  friend  of  Anselm,  he  had  been  em- 
ployed in  the  monastery  of  Bee  to  marshal  with 
the  eye  of  an  artist  all  the  pictorial  ceremonies 
of  his  church.  But  he  was  chiefly  known  in  that 
convent  as  a  weeper.  No  monk  at  Bee  could  cry 
so  often  and  so  much  as  Gundulf.  He  could  weep 
with  those  who  wept,  nay,  he  could  weep  with  those 
who  sported,  for  his  tears  welled  forth  from  what 
seemed  to  be  an  unfailing-  source. 

As  the  price  of  his  exile  from  Bee,  Gundulf 
received  the  crozier  of  Rochester,  in  which  city  he 
rebuilt  the  cathedral  and  perhaps  designed  the 
castle,  since  the  great  keep  on  the  Medway  has 
a  sister's  likeness  to  the  great  keep  on  the  Thames. 
His  works  in  London  were  the  White  Tower,  the 
first  St.  Peter's  Church,  and  the  old  barbican, 
afterward  known  as  the  Hall  Tower,  and  now  used 
as  the  Jewel  House. 

The  cost  of  these  works  was  great;  the  discon- 
tent caused  by  them  was  sore.  Ralph,  Bishop  of 
Durham,  the  able  and  rapacious  minister  who  had 
to  raise  the  money,  was  hated  and  reviled  by  the 
Commons  with  peculiar  bitterness  of  heart  and 
phrase.  He  was  called  Flambard,  or  Firebrand. 
He  was  represented  as  a  devouring  lion.  Still  the 
great  edifice  grew  up,  and  Gundulf,  who  lived  to 
the  age  of  fourscore,  saw  his  great  keep  completed 
from  basement  to  battlement. 

Henry  the  Third,  a  prince  of  epical  fancies  as 
Corffe,  Conway,  Beaumaris  and  many  other  fine 
poems  in  stone  attest,  not  only  spent  much  of  his 
money  in  adding  to  its  beauty  and  strength, 
.  .  .  but  was  his  own  chief  clerk  of  the  works. 
The  Water  Gate,  the  embanked  wharf,  the  Cradle 
Tower,  the  Lantern,  which  he  made  his  bedroom 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

and  private  closet,  the  Galleyman  Tower,  and  the 
first  wall  appear  to  have  been  his  gifts.  But  the 
prince  who  did  so  much  for  Westminster  Abbey, 
not  content  with  giving  stone  and  piles  to  the 
home  in  which  he  dwelt,  enriched  the  chambers 
with  frescoes  and  sculptures,  the  chapels  with 
carving  and  glass,  making  St.  John's  Chapel  in 
the  White  Tower  splendid  with  saints,  St.  Peter's 
Church  on  the  Tower  Green  musical  with  bells. 
In  the  Hall  Tower,  from  which  a  passage  led 
through  the  Great  Hall  into  the  King's  bedroom 
in  the  Lantern,  he  built  a  tiny  chapel  for  his  private 
use — a  chapel  which  sensed  for  the  devotions  of  his 
successors  until  Henry  the  Sixth  was  stabbed  to 
death  before  the  cross.  Sparing  neither  skill  nor 
gold  to  make  the  great  fortress  worthy  of  his  art, 
he  sent  to  Purbeck  for  marble  and  to  Caen  for 
stone.  The  dabs  of  lime,  the  spawls  of  flint,  the 
layers  of  brick  which  deface  the  walls  and  towers 
in  too  many  places  are  of  either  earlier  or  later 
times.  The  marble  shafts,  the  noble  groins,  the 
delicate  traceries,  are  Henry's  work.  Traitor's 
Gate  w^as  built  by  him.  In  short,  nearly  all  that 
is  purest  in  art  is  traceable  to  his  reign. 

Edward  the  First  may  be  added,  at  a  distance,  to 
the  list  of  builders.  In  his  reign  the  original 
Church  of  St.  Peter's  fell  into  ruin;  the  wrecks 
were  carted  away,  and  the  present  edifice  was 
built.  The  bill  of  costs  for  clearing  the  ground 
is  still  extant  in  Fetter  Lane.  Twelve  men,  who 
were  paid  twopence  a  day  w^ages,  were  employed 
on  the  work  for  twenty  days.  The  cost  of  pulling 
down  the  old  chapel  was  forty-six  shillings  and 
eight  pence;  that  of  digging  foundations  for  the 
new  chapel  forty  shillings.     That  chapel  has  suf- 

58 


LONDON 


fered  from  wardens  and  lieutenants;  yet  the  shell 
is  of  very  fine  Norman  work. 

From  the  days  of  Henry  the  builder  down  to 
those  of  Henry  of  Richmond  the  Tower,  as  the 
strongest  place  in  the  south  of  England,  was  by 
turns  the  magnificent  home  and  the  miserable  jail 
of  all  our  princes.  Here  Richard  the  Second  held 
his  court  and  gave  up  his  crown.  Here  Henry  the 
Sixth  was  murdered.  Here  the  Duke  of  Clarence 
was  drowned  in  wine.  Here  King  Edward  and 
the  Duke  of  York  was  slain  by  command  of  Rich- 
ard. Here  Margaret  of  Salisbury  suffered  her 
tragic  fate. 

Heniy  of  Richmond  kept  his  royal  state  in  the 
Tower,  receiving  his  ambassadors,  counting  his 
angels,  making  presents  to  his  bride,  Elizabeth  of 
York.  Among  other  gifts  to  that  lady  on  her 
nuptial  day  was  a  Royal  Book  of  verse,  composed 
by  a  prisoner  in  the  keep. 


ST.  JAMES'S  PALACE* 

BY  AUGUSTUS    J.    C.    HARE 

The  picturesque  old  brick  gateway  of  St.  James's 
Palace  still  looks  up  St.  James's  Street,  one  of  the 
most  precious  relics  of  the  past  in  London,  and 
enshrining  the  memory  of  a  greater  succession  of 
historical  events  than  any  other  domes  ac  building 
in  England,  Windsor  Castle  not  excepted.  The 
site  of  the  palace  was  occupied,  even  before  the 
Conquest,  by  a  hospital  dedicated  to  St.  James, 
for  "fourteen  maidens  that  wei^e  leprous."    Henry 

*Froin   "Walks  in  London." 

59 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

VIII.  obtained  it  by  exchange,  pensioned  o&.  the 
sisters,  and  converted  the  hospital  into  "a  fair 
mansion  and  park,"  in  the  same  year  in  which  he 
was  married  to  Anne  Boleyn,  who  was  commem- 
orated here  with  him  in  love-knots,  now  almost 
obliterated,  upon  the  side  doors  of  the  gateway, 
and  in  the  letters  "H.  A."  on  the  chimney-piece 
of  the  presence-chamber  or  tapestry  room.  Hol- 
bein is  sometimes  said  to  have  been  the  king's  archi- 
tect here,  as  he  was  at  Whitehall.  Henry  can 
seldom  have  lived  here,  but  hither  his  daughter, 
Mary  I.,  retired,  after  her  husband  Philip  left  Eng- 
land for  Spain,  and  here  she  died,  November  17, 
1558. 

James  I.,  in  1610,  settled  St.  James's  on  his 
eldest  son.  Prince  Henry,  who  kept  his  court  here 
for  two  years  with  great  magnificence,  having  a 
salaried  household  of  no  less  than  two  hundred 
and  ninety-seven  persons.  Here  he  died  in  his  nine- 
teenth year,  November  6,  1612.  Upon  his  death, 
St.  James's  was  given  to  his  brother  Charles,  who 
frequently  resided  here  after  his  accession  to  the 
throne,  and  here  Henrietta  Maria  gave  birth  to 
Charles  II.,  James  II.,  and  the  Princess  Elizabeth. 
In  1638  the  palace  was  given  as  a  refuge  to  the 
queen's  mother,  Marie  de  Medici,  who  lived  here 
for  three  years,  with  a  pension  of  £3,000  a  month ! 
Hither  Charles  I,  was  brought  from  Windsor  as 
the  prisoner  of  the  l\irliament,  his  usual  attend- 
ants, \vdth  one  exception,  lieing  debarred  access  to 
him,  and  being  replaced  by  common  soldiers,  Avho 
sat  smoking  and  drinking  even  in  the  royal  bed- 
cliamber,  never  allowing  liim  a  moment's  privacy, 
and  hence  he  was  taken  in  a  sedan  chair  to  his 
trial  at  Whitehall. 

60 


LONDON 


On  the  following  day  the  king  was  led  away 
from  St.  James's  to  the  scaffold.  His  faithful 
friends,  Henry  Rich,  Earl  of  Holland,  the  Duke 
of  Hamilton,  and  Lord  Capel  were  afterward  im- 
prisoned in  the  palace  and  suffered  like  their 
master. 

Charles  II.,  who  was  born  at  St.  James's  (May 
29,  1630),  resided  at  Whitehall,  giving  up  the  pal- 
ace to  his  brother,  the  Duke  of  York  (also  born 
here,  October  25,  1633),  but  reserving  apartments 
for  his  mistress,  the  Duchess  of  Mazarin,  who  at 
one  time  resided  there  with  a  pension  of  £4,000 
a  year.  Here  Mary  II.  was  bom,  April  30,  1662; 
and  here  she  was  married  to  William  of  Orange, 
at  eleven  at  night,  November  4,  1677.  Here  for 
many  years  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  York  se- 
cluded themselves  with  their  children,  in  mourn- 
ing and  sorrow,  on  the  anniversary  of  his  father's 
murder.  Here  also  Anne  Hyde,  Duchess  of  York, 
died,  March  31,  1671,  asking,  "What  is  truth  f  of 
Blandford,  Bishop  of  Worcester,  who  came  to 
visit  her. 

In  St.  James's  Palace  also,  James's  second  wife, 
Mary  of  Modena,  gave  birth  to  her  fifth  child, 
Prince  James  Edward  ("the  Old  Pretender")  on 
June  10,  1688. 

It  was  to  St.  James's  that  William  III.  came 
on  his  first  arrival  in  England,  and  he  frequently 
resided  there  afterward,  dining  in  public,  with  the 
Duke  of  Schomberg  seated  at  his  right  hand  and 
a  number  of  Dutch  guests,  but  on  no  occasion 
was  any  English  gentleman  invited.  In  the  latter 
part  of  William's  reign  the  palace  was  given  up 
to  the  Princess  Anne,  who  had  been  born  there 
February  6,  1665,   and  married  there  to  Prince 


61 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

George  of  Denmark  July  28,  1683.  She  was  re- 
siding- here  when  Bishop  Burnet  brought  her  the 
news  of  William's  death  and  her  own  accession. 

George  I.,  on  his  arrival  in  England,  came  at 
once  to  St.  James's.  ''This  is  a  strange  countiy," 
he  remarked  afterward;  "the  first  morning  after 
my  arrival  at  St.  James's  I  looked  out  of  the  win- 
dow, and  saw  a  park  with  walks,  and  a  canal, 
which  they  told  me  were  mine.  The  next  day 
Lord  Chetwynd,  the  ranger  of  my  park,  sent  me 
a  fine  brace  of  carp  out  of  my  canal;  and  I  was 
told  I  must  give  five  guineas  to  Lord  Chetwynd's 
servant  for  bringing  me  my  own  cai^p,  out  of  mj)^ 
own  canal,  in  my  own  park." 

The  Duchess  of  Kendal,  the  king's  mistress,  had 
rooms  in  the  palace,  and,  toward  the  close  of  his 
reign,  George  I.  assigned  apartments  there  on  the 
ground  floor  to  a  fresh  favorite,  Miss  Anne  Brett. 
When  the  king  left  for  Hanover,  ]\Iiss  Brett  had  a 
door  opened  from  her  rooms  to  the  royal  gardens, 
which  the  king's  granddaughter,  Princess  Anne, 
who  was  residing  in  the  palace,  indignantly  ordered 
to  be  walled  up.  Miss  Brett  had  it  opened  a  sec- 
ond time,  and  the  quarrel  was  at  its  height  when 
the  news  of  the  king's  death  put  an  end  to  the 
power  of  his  mistress.  With  the  accession  of 
George  II.  the  Countesses  of  Yarmouth  and  Suffolk 
took  possession  of  the  apartment-s  of  the  Duchess 
of  Kendal.  As  Prince  of  Wales,  George  II.  had 
resided  in  the  palace  till  a  smoldering  quarrel 
with  his  father  came  to  a  crisis  over  the  christen- 
ing of  one  of  the  royal  children,  and  the  next  day 
he  was  put  under  arrest,  and  ordered  to  leave  St. 
James's  with  his  family  the  same  evening.  Wil- 
helmina  Caroline  of  Anspaeh,  the  beloved  queen 

62 


LONDON 


of  George  II.,  died  in  the  palace,  November  20, 
1737,  after  an  agonizing  illness,  endured  with  the 
utmost  fortitude  and  consideration  for  all  around 
her. 

Of  the  daughters  of  George  II.  and  Queen  Caro- 
line, Anne,  the  eldest,  was  married  at  St.  James's 
to  the  Prince  of  Orange,  November,  1733,  urged 
to  the  alliance  by  her  desire  for  power,  and  an- 
swering to  her  parents,  when  they  reminded  her 
of  the  hideous  and  ungainly  appearance  of  the 
bridegroom,  "I  would  marry  him,  even  if  he  were 
a  baboon !"  The  marriage,  however,  was  a  happy 
one,  and  a  pleasant  contrast  to  that  of  her  younger 
sister  Mary,  the  king's  fourth  daughter,  who  was 
married  here  to  the  brutal  Frederick  of  Hesse 
Cassel,  June  14,  1771.  The  third  daughter,  Caro- 
line, died  at  St.  James's,  December  28,  1757,  after 
a  long  seclusion  consequent  upon  the  death  of  John, 
Lord  Harvey,  to  whom  she  was  passionately  at- 
tached. 

George  I.  and  George  II.  used,  on  certain  days 
to  play  at  Hazard  at  the  grooms'  postern  at  St. 
James's,  and  the  name  "Hells,"  as  applied  to 
modern  gaming-houses  is  derived  from  that  given 
to  the  gloomy  room  used  by  the  royal  gamblers. 

The  northern  part  of  the  palace,  beyond  the 
gateway  (inhabited  in  the  reign  of  Victoria  by  the 
Duchess  of  Cambridge),  was  built  for  the  marriage 
of  Frederick  Prince  of  Wales. 

The  State  Apartments  (which  those  who  frequent 
levees  and  drawing-rooms  have  abundant  oppor- 
tunities of  surv^eying)  are  handsome,  and  contain 
a  number  of  good  royal  portraits. 

The  Chapel  Royal,  on  the  right  on  entering  the 
"Color  Court,"  has  a  carved  and  painted  ceiling 


63 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

of  1540.  Madame  d'Arblay  describes  the  perti- 
nacity of  George  III.  in  attending  service  here  in 
bitter  November  weather,  when  the  queen  and 
court  at  length  left  the  king,  his  chaplain,  and 
equerry  "to  freeze  it  out  together."     .     .     . 

When  Queen  Caroline  (wife  of  George  II.)  asked 
Mr.  Whiston  what  fault  people  had  to  hnd  with  her 
conduct,  he  replied  that  the  fault  they  most  com- 
plained of  was  her  habit  of  talking  in  chapel. 
She  promised  amendment,  but  proceeding  to  ask 
what  other  faults  were  objected  to  her,  he  replied, 
"When  your  Majesty  has  amended  this  I'll  tell  you 
of  the  next." 

It  was  in  this  chapel  that  the  colors  taken  from 
James  II.  at  the  Battle  of  the  Boyne  were  hung 
up  by  his  daughter  Mary,  an  unnatural  exhibition 
of  triumph  which  shocked  the  Londoners.  Besides 
that  of  Queen  Anne,  a  number  of  royal  marriages 
have  been  solemnized  here;  those  of  the  daughters 
of  George  II.,  of  Frederick  Prince  of  Wales  to 
Augusta  of  Saxe  Cobourg,  of  George  IV.  to  Caro- 
line of  Brunswick,  and  of  Queen  Victoria  to  Prince 
Albert. 

The  Garden  at  the  back  of  St.  James's  Palace 
has  a  private  entrance  to  the  Park.  It  was  as  he 
was  alighting  from  his  carriage  here,  August  2, 
1786,  that  George  III.  was  attacked  ^vith  a  knife 
by  the  insane  Margaret  Nicholson.  "The  bystand- 
ers v/ere  proceeding  to  wreak  summary  vengeance 
on  tlie  (would-be)  assassin,  when  the  King  gener- 
ously interfered  in  her  behalf.  *The  poor  creature,' 
he  exclaimed,  'is  mad:  do  not  hurt  her;  she  has 
not  hurt  me.'  He  then  stept  foi-ward  and  showed 
himself  to  the  populace,  assuring  them  that  he 
was  safe  and  uninjured." 

64 


LONDON 


LITERARY    SHRINES    OF    LONDON* 

BY     WILLIAM     WINTER 

•From  "Shakespeare's  England."  By  arrangement 
with  the  publishers,  Moffat,  Yard  &  Co.  Copyright  by 
William  Winter,  1878-1910. 

The  mind  that  can  reverence  historic  asso- 
ciations needs  no  explanation  of  the  charm  that 
such  associations  possess.  There  are  streets  and 
houses  in  London  which,  for  pilgrims  of  this 
class,  are  haunted  with  memories  and  hallowed 
with  an  imperishable  light  that  not  even  the 
dreary  commonness  of  everyday  life  can  quench 
or  dim.  Almost  every  great  author  in  English 
literature  has  here  left  some  personal  trace, 
some  relic  that  brings  you  at  once  into  his 
Kving  presence.  In  the  time  of  Shakespeare, — 
of  whom  it  should  be  noted  that,  wherever  found, 
he  is  found  in  elegant  neighborhoods, — Alders- 
gate  was  a  secluded,  peaceful  quarter  of  the 
town,  and  there  the  poet  had  his  residence,  con- 
venient to  the  theater  in  Blackfriars,  in  which 
he  owned  a  share.  It  is  said  that  he  dwelt  at 
No.  134  Aldersg-ate  Street  (the  house  was  long 
ago  demolished),  and  in  that  region,  amid  all 
the  din  of  traffic  and  all  the  discordant  ad- 
juncts of  a  new  age,  those  who  love  him  are  in 
his  company.  Milton  was  born  in  a  court  ad- 
jacent to  Bread  Street,  Cheapside,  and  the 
explorer  comes  upon  him  as  a  resident  in  St. 
Bride's  churchyard, — where  the  poet  Lovelace 
was  buried, — and  at  No.  19  York  Street,  West- 
minster, in  later  times  occupied  by  Jeremy 
Beutham  and  by  William  Hazlitt.     When  secre- 

I--5  65 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

tary  to  Cromwell  lie  lived  in  Scotland  Yard, 
now  the  headquarters  of  the  London  police. 
His  last  home  was  in  Artillery  Walk,  Bunhill 
Fields,  but  the  visitor  to  that  spot  finds  it 
covered  by  the  Artillery  barracks.  Walking- 
through  King  Street,  Westminster,  you  will  not 
forget  the  great  poet  Edmund  Spenser,  who,  a 
victim  to  barbarity,  died  there,  in  destitution 
and  grief.  Ben  Jonson's  terse  record  of  that 
calamity  says:  "The  Irish  having  robbed 
Spenser's  goods  and  burnt  his  house  and  a 
little  child  new-born,  he  and  his  wife  escaped, 
and  after  he  died,  for  lack  of  bread,  in  King 
Street."  Ben  Jonson  is  closely  associated  with 
places  th:ii.  can  still  be  seen.  He  passed  his 
boyhood  near  Charing  Cross — having  been  born 
in  Hartshorn  Lane,  now  Northumberland  Street; 
he  attended  the  parish  school  of  St.  Martin's- 
in-the-Fields ;  and  persons  who  roam  about  Lin- 
coln's Inn  will  call  to  mind  that  he  helped  to 
build  it — a  trowel  in  one  hand  and  a  volume  of 
Horace  in  the  other.  His  residence,  in  his  day 
of  fame,  was  outside  the  Temple  Bar,  but  all 
that  neighborhood  is  new. 

The  Mermaid, — which  Jonson  frequented,  in 
companionship  with  Shakespeare,  Fletcher,  Her- 
rick.  Chapman,  and  Donne, — was  in  Bread 
Street,  but  no  trace  of  it  remains,  and  a  bank- 
ing house  stands  now  on  the  site  of  the  old 
Devil  Tavern,  in  Fleet  Street,  a  room  in  which, 
called  "The  Apollo,"  was  the  trysting  place  of 
the  club  of  which  he  was  the  founder.  The 
famous  inscription,  "0,  rare  Ben  Jonson!"  is 
three  times  cut  in  the  Abbey;  once  in  Poets' 
Corner   and   twice  in   the   north   aisle,   where  he 

66 


LONDON 


was  buried, — a  little  slab  in  the  pavement  mark- 
ing his  grave.  Dryden  once  dwelt  in  a  quaint, 
narrow  bouse,  in  Fetter  Lane, — the  street  in 
which  Dean  Swift  has  placed  the  home  of 
"Gulliver,"  and  where  the  famous  Doomsday 
Book  was  kept, — but,  later,  he  removed  to  a 
finer  dwelling,  in  Gerrard  Street,  Soho,  which 
was  the  scene  of  his  death.  (The  house  in 
Fetter  Lane  was  torn  down  in  1891.)  Edmund 
Burke's  house,  also  in  Gerrard  Street,  is  a  beer- 
shop,  but  the  memory  of  the  great  orator  hal- 
lows the  abode,  and  an  inscription  upon  *it 
proudly  announces  that  here  he  lived.  Dr. 
Johnson's  house,  in  Gough  Square,  bears  (or 
bore)  a  mural  tablet,  and  standing  at  its  time- 
worn  threshold,  the  visitor  needed  no  effort  of 
fancy  to  picture  that  uncouth  figure  shambling 
through  the  crooked  lanes  that  afford  access  to 
this  queer,  somber,  melancholy  retreat.  In  that 
house  he  wrote  the  first  dictionary  of  the  Eng- 
lish langTiage  and  the  characteristic,  memorable 
letter  to  Lord  Chesterfield.  The  historical  anti- 
quarian society  that  has  marked  many  of  the 
literary  shrines  of  London  has  rendered  a  signal 
service.  The  custom  of  marking  the  houses  that 
are  associated  with  renowned  names  is,  ob- 
viously, a  good  one,  because  it  provides  instruc- 
tion, and  also  because  it  tends  to  vitalize,  in 
the  general  mind,  a  sense  of  the  value  of  honor- 
able repute:  it  ought,  therefore,  to  be  every- 
where adopted  and  followed.  A  house  asso- 
ciated with  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  and  a  house 
associated  with  Hogarth,  both  in  Leicester 
Square,  and  houses  associated  with  Benjamin 
Franklin  and  Peter  the  Great,  in  Craven  Street; 

67 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

Sheridan,  in  Savile  Row;  Campbell,  in  Duke 
Street;  Garrick,  in  the  Adelphi  Terrace;  Mrs. 
Siddons,  in  Baker  Street,  and  Michael  Faraday, 
in  Blandford  Street,  are  only  a  few  of  the 
notable  places  which  have  been  thns  desi^ated. 
More  of  such  commemorative  work  remains  to 
be  done,  and,  doubtless,  will  be  accomplished. 
The  traveler  would  like  to  know  in  which  of 
the  houses  in  Buckingham  Street  Coleridge 
lodged,  while  he  was  translating  ''Wallenstein" ; 
which  house  in  Bloomsbury  Square  was  the  resi- 
dence of  Akenside,  when  he  wrote  "The 
Pleasures  of  Imagination,"  and  of  Croly,  when 
he  wrote  "Salathiel";  or  where  it  was  that  Gray 
lived,  when  he  established  his  residence  in 
Russel  Square,  in  order  to  be  one  of  the  fii-st 
(as  he  continued  to  be  one  of  the  most  con- 
stant) students  at  the  then  newly  opened  British 
Museum  (1759).  .  .  .  These  records,  and  such  as 
these,  may  seem  trivialities,  but  Nature  has 
denied  an  unfailing  source  of  innocent  pleasure 
to  the  person  who  can  feel  no  interest  in  them. 
For  my  part,  when  rambling  in  Fleet  Street  it 
is  a  special  delight  to  remember  even  so  little 
an  incident  as  that  recorded  of  the  author  of 
the  "Elegy" — that  he  once  saw  there  his  con- 
temptuous critic.  Dr.  Johnson,  shambling  along 
the  sidewalk,  and  murmured  to  a  companion, 
"Here  comos  Ursa  ]\[ajor."  For  true  lovers  of 
literature  "Ursus  Major"  walks  oftener  in  Fleet 
Street  to-day  tlian  any  living  man. 

A  good  leading  thread  of  literary  research 
might  be  profitably  followed  by  the  student  who 
should  trace  the  footsteps  of  all  the  poets,  dead 
and  gone,  that  have  held,  in  England,  the  office 

68 


LONDON 


of  laureate.  John  Kay  was  laureate  in  the 
reign  of  King  Edward  the  Fourth;  Andrew  Ber- 
nard in  that  of  King  Henry  the  Seventh ;  John 
Skelton  in  that  of  King  Henry  the  Eighth,  and 
Edmund  Spenser  in  that  of  Queen  Elizabeth. 
Since  then  the  succession  has  included  the  names 
of  Samuel  Daniel,  Michael  Drayton,  Ben  Jonson, 
Sir  William  Devenant,  John  Dryden,  Thomas 
Shadwell,  Nahum  Tate,  Nicholas  Rowe,  Law- 
rence Eusden,  Colley  Gibber,  William  Whitehead, 
Thomas  Warton,  Henry  James  Pye,  Robert 
Southey,  William  Wordsworth,  and  Alfred 
Tennyson.  Most  of  those  bards  were  intimately 
associated  with  London,  and  several  of  them 
are  buried  in  the  Abbey.  It  is,  indeed,  because 
so  many  storied  names  are  written  upon  grave- 
stones that  the  explorer  of  the  old  churches  of 
London  tinds  in  them  so  rich  a  harvest  of  in- 
structive association  and  elevating  thought.  Few 
persons  visit  them,  and  you  are  likely  to  find 
Yourself  comparatively  alone,  in  rambles  of  this 
kind.  I  went  one  morning  into  St.  Martin's, — 
once  '^n-the-fields,"  now  at  the  busy  center  of 
the  city, — and  found  there  only  a  pew-opener, 
preparing  for  the  service,  and  an  organist, 
practising  music.  It  is  a  beautiful  structure, 
with  graceful  spire  and  with  columns  of  weather- 
beaten,  gray  stone,  curiously  stained  with 
streaks  of  black,  and  it  is  almost  as  famous  for 
theatrical  names  as  St.  Paul's,  Covent  Garden, 
or  St.  George's,  Bloomsbury,  or  St.  Clement 
Danes.  There,  in  a  vault  beneath  the  church, 
was  buried  the  bewitching,  generous  Nell 
Gwynn;  there  is  the  grave  of  James  Smith, 
joint  author  with  his  brother  Horace, — who  was 


69 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

buried  at  Tunbridge  Wells, — of  ''The  Rejected 
Addresses";  there  rests  Richard  Yates,  the 
original  "Sir  Oliver  Surface";  and  there  were 
laid  the  ashes  of  the  romantic  Mrs.  Centlivre, 
and  of  George  Farquhar,  whom  neither  youth, 
genius,  patient  labor,  nor  sterling  achievement 
could  save  from  a  life  of  misfortune  and  an 
untimely,  piteous  death.  A  cheerier  association 
of  this  church  is  Avith  the  poet  Thomas  Moore, 
who  was  there  married.  At  St.  Giles's-in-the- 
Fields  are  the  graves  of  George  Chapman,  who 
translated  Homer;  Andrew  Marvel,  who  wrote 
such  lovely  lyrics;  Rich,  the  manager,  who 
brought  out  ''The  Beggar's  Opera,"  and  James 
Shirley,  the  fine  dramatist  and  poet,  whose  im- 
mortal couplet  has  often  been  murmured  in 
such  solemn  haunts  as  these : 

Only  the  actions  of  the  just 

Smell  sweet  and  blossom  in  the  dust. 

Shirley  was  one  of  the  most  fertile,  accom- 
plished, admirable,  and  admired  of  writers, 
during  tlie  greater  part  of  his  life  (1596-1666), 
and  the  study  of  his  writing  amply  rewards  the 
diligence  of  the  student.  His  plays,  about  forty 
in  number,  of  which  "The  Traitor"  is  deemed 
the  best  tragedy  and  "The  Lady  of  Pleasure" 
the  best  comedy,  comprehend  a  wide  variety  of 
subject  and  exhibit  refinement,  deep  feeling,  and 
sustained  fluency  of  graceful  expression.  His 
name  is  associated  with  St.  Albans,  where  he 
dwelt  as  a  school-teacher,  and,  in  London,  with 
Gray's  Inn,  where  at  one  time  he  resided. 


70 


II 
CATHEDRALS  AND  ABBEYS 

CANTERBURY* 

BY  THE  EDITOR 

An  Anglo-Saxon  man  may  get  down  to  first 
principles  in  Canterbury.  He  reaches  the  divid- 
ing point  in  England  between  the  old  faith  of  Pa- 
gans and  the  new  religion  of  Jesus  the  Christ. 
The  founder  of  the  new  gospel  had  been  dead  five 
hundred  years  when  England  accepted  Him,  and 
acceptance  came  only  after  the  Saxon  King  Ethel- 
bert  had  married  Bertha,  daughter  of  a  Prankish 
prince.  Here  in  Canterbury  Ethelbert  held  his 
court.  Bertha,  like  her  father,  was  a  Christian. 
After  her  marriage,  Bertha  herself  for  some  years 
held  Christian  services  here  alone  in  little  St.  Mar- 
tin's Church,  but  Ethelbert  still  loved  his  idols; 
indeed,  for  many  years,  he  continued  to  worship 
Oclin  and  Thor.  St.  Patrick  had  been  in  Ireland 
a  full  century  before  this. 

Bertha  as  a  Christian  stood  almost  alone  in 
Saxon  England,  but  her  persistence  at  last  so 
wrought  upon  Ethelbert  that  he  wrote  a  letter  to 
Pope  Gregory  the  Great,  asking  that  a  missionary 
be  sent  to  England.  This  was  in  the  sixth  century. 
St.  Augustine  and  forty  monks  were  dispatched 
by  Gregory  to  the  English  shore.     To-day  I  have 

*From  "Two  Months  Abroad."  Printed  privately. 
(187S.) 

71 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

seen  the  church  where  this  great  missionary 
preached.  It  still  contains  the  font  from  which 
he  baptized  his  many  English  converts.  In  this 
church  King  Ethelbert  himself  embraced  Chris- 
tianity, and  so  it  was  that  the  union  of  Church 
and  State  was  here  effected.  Canterbury  then 
became  the  mother  of  the  Church  of  England — a 
title  she  has  retained  through  all  succeeding  years. 

Few  towns  in  England  can  interest  an  educated 
man  more.  Its  foundation  dates  from  years  before 
the  Christian  era — how  long  before  no  man  knows. 
It  is  rich  in  historj^,  secular  as  well  as  ecclesias- 
tical. The  Black  Prince,  beloved  and  admired  as 
few  princes  ever  were,  had  a  strong  attachment  for 
it,  and  here  lies  buried.  Opposite  his  tomb  sleeps 
Henry  IV,  the  king  who  dethroned  Richard  II, 
son  of  this  same  Black  Prince.  Thomas  a  Becket, 
and  those  marvelous  pilgrimages  that  followed  his 
murder  for  three  hundred  years,  have  given  it  last- 
ing renown.  The  "father  of  English  poetry"  has 
still  further  immortalized  it  in  his  "Tales."  In- 
deed, there  are  few  towns  possessing  so  many 
claims  on  the  attention  of  the  churchman,  the  anti- 
quarian, and  the  man  of  letters. 

One  of  the  densest  fogs  I  ever  knew  settled  upon 
the  ancient  town  the  morning  after  my  arrival.  It 
was  impossible  to  see  clearly  across  streets.  This 
fog  increased  the  gloom  which  long  ago  came  over 
these  ancient  monuments  and  seemed  to  add  some- 
thing unreal  to  the  air  of  solemn  greatness  that 
appeared  in  every  street  and  corner.  Chance 
threw  me  into  Mercury  Lane.  Here  at  once  was 
historic  ground.  On  a  corner  of  the  lane  stands 
the  very  old  inn  that  is  mentioned  by  Chaucer 
as  the  resort  of  the  pilgrims  whose  deeds  he  has 

72 


CATHEDRALS  AND  ABBEYS 


celebrated.  It  is  now  used  by  a  linen-draper.  The 
original  vaulted  cellars  and  overhanging  upper 
stories  still  remain. 

Pressing  onward,  I  soon  reached  a  Gothic  gate- 
way, handsomely  carved,  but  sadly  old  and  decayed. 
It  led  into  the  grass-covered  cathedral  yard. 
Through  the  thick  fog  could  now  be  distinguished 
some  of  the  lofty  outlines  of  the  majestic  cathedral. 
Its  central  tower,  which  is  among  the  best  speci- 
mens of  the  pointed  style  in  England,  could  be 
seen  faintly  as  it  rose  ponderously  into  the  clouded 
air.  No  picture,  no  figures,  no  mere  letter,  can 
place  before  the  reader's  mind  this  enormous  edi- 
fice. Its  total  length  is  520  feet — Westminster 
Abbey  is  more  than  100  feet  less.  As  we  enter,  the 
immensity  of  it  grows.  It  is  a  beautiful  theory 
that  these  great  Gothic  churches,  as  outgrowths  of 
the  spirit  of  Christianity,  in  their  largeness  and  in 
the  forms  of  their  windows  and  aisles,  were  meant 
to  represent  the  universality  and  lofty  ideals  of 
the  Christian  faith.  Pagans  worshiped  largely  in 
family  temples  which  none  but  the  rich  could  build. 
The  new  faith  opened  its  temples  to  all  men,  and  it 
built  churches  large  enough  for  all  classes  and  con- 
ditions to  enter  and  find  room. 

Two  styles  of  architecture  are  shown  in  the  in- 
terior of  Canterbury,  Noi-man  and  Early  Gothic. 
In  the  former  style  are  the  transept,  choir  and 
Becket  chapel,  each  with  its  noble  series  of  lofty 
columns  and  arches.  Beneath  the  choir  and  chapel 
is  a  crypt,  also  Norman  and  the  oldest  part  of 
the  cathedral,  some  of  it  undoubtedly  dating  from 
St.  Augustine's  time.  He  is  known  to  have  built 
a  church  soon  after  his  arrival  upon  ground  for- 
merly occupied  by  Christians  in  the  Roman  army, 


73 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

and  this  is  believed  to  be  its  site.  Tiie  crypt, 
in  a  splendid  state  of  preservation,  extends  under 
the  entire  Norman  portion  of  the  building. 

AVhen  the  Gothic  style  came  into  vogue,  succeed- 
ing the  Norman,  the  remainder  of  the  present  edi- 
fice was  added.  Either  part — Norman  or  Gothic — 
would  in  itself  make  a  large  church.  One  will  meet 
few  grander  naves  anywhere  than  this  Gothic  nave 
in  Canterbury,  formed  of  white  stone  and  won- 
derfully symmetrical  in  all  its  outlines.  A  screen, 
richly  wrought,  divides  the  Norman  from  the  Gothic 
part.  Two  flights  of  stone  steps  lead  from  one  to 
the  other.  It  will  not  be  easy  to  forget  the  im- 
pression made  that  dark  December  morning  when 
I  entered  the  little  doorway  of  this  cathedral  and 
first  walked  down  its  long,  gray,  lofty  nave  to  this 
flight  of  steps.  The  chanting  in  the  choir  of  the 
morning  service  which  echoed  throughout  the  vast 
edifice  gave  profound  solemnity  to  a  scene  that  can 
never  pass  from  recollection. 

When  the  service  had  closed,  an  intelligent 
verger  acted  as  my  guide.  New  chapels  and  aisles 
seemed  to  open  in  all  directions.  Before  w^  had 
completed  the  circuit,  it  seemed  as  if  we  were  going 
through  another  Westminster  Abbey.  In  one  cor- 
near  is  the  "Warrior's  Chapel,"  crowded  with  the 
tombs  of  knights  wliose  effigies,  in  full  armor,  lie 
recumbent  on  elaborate  bases.  Henry  IV.  and  his 
second  queen  lie  in  the  Becket  Chapel  under  an 
elegant  canopy,  between  two  immense  Norman  pil- 
lars. On  the  other  side,  between  two  other  pillars, 
lies  the  Black  Prince,  with  recumbent  statue  in 
full  armor.  Suspended  above  the  canopy  are  bis 
coat  of  mail  and  the  helmet  and  shield  he  wore 
at  Cressy. 

74 


CATHEDRALS  AND  ABBEYS 


In  the  center  of  this  chapel,  and  between  these 
two  monuments,  formerly  stood  Thomas  a  Becket's 
famous  shrine.  The  chapel  was  added  to  the  cathe- 
dral for  the  express  purpose  of  receiving  his 
remains.  At  the  height  of  the  pilgrimages,  about 
100,000  people  are  said  to  have  visited  it  every 
year.  The  steps  that  lead  to  it  show  how  they 
were  deeply  worn  by  pilgrims,  who  ascended  in 
pairs  on  their  knees.  Where  stood  the  shrine  the 
pavement  has  also  been  worn  deeply  down  to  the 
shape  of  the  human  knee  by  pilgTims  while  in 
prayer.  Each  pilgrim  brought  an  offering,  and 
nothing  less  than  gold  was  accepted.  Not  alone 
the  common  people,  but  princes,  kings  and  great 
church  dignitaries  from  foreign  lands  came  with 
gifts.  Erasmus  was  here  in  1510  and  wrote  of 
the  Becket  shrine  that  it  "shone  and  glittered  with 
the  rarest  and  most  precious  jewels  of  an  extra- 
ordinary largeness,  some  larger  than  the  egg  of  a 
goose." 

The  brilliant  duration  of  these  pilgrimages  came 
finally  to  a  sudden  end.  During  the  Reformation, 
Henry  VIII.  seized  and  demolished  the  shrine.  The 
treasure,  filling  two  large  chests,  and  which  eight 
men  could  with  difficulty  carry,  was  seized,  and 
on  the  adjoining  pavement  the  bones  of  the  saint 
were  burned.  Not  a  single  relic  of  Becket  now  re- 
mains in  Canterbury.  With  no  ordinary  feeling 
does  one  stand  amid  the  scene  of  this  most  inter- 
esting and  curious  chapter  in  church  history.  Not 
far  from  the  shrine  is  the  place  where  the  murder 
of  Becket  was  committed.  You  are  shown  the 
actual  stone  that  was  stained  with  his  blood.  A 
piece  of  this  stone,  about  four  inches  square,  was 
cut  out  of  the  pavement  at  the  time  of  the  murder 

75 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

and  sent  to  Rome,  where  it  is  still  presen-ed. 
Among  many  interesting  tombs  not  already  re- 
ferred to  are  those  of  the  great  St.  Dunstan;  of 
Admiral  Rooke,  the  hero  of  Gibraltar;  of  Stephen 
Langton  (immortal  with  Magna  Charta),  and  of 
Archbishop  Pole,  of  Mary  Tudor's  time,  who  died 
the  same  day  as  that  queen,  and  thus  made  clear 
Elizabeth's  path  to  a  restoration  of  Protestantism. 

After  the  cathedral,  the  most  interesting  place 
in  Canterbury  is  St.  Martin's  Church.  With  few 
exceptions — including,  perhaps,  a  very  early  and 
well-preserved  church  in  Ravenna — it  is  doubted 
if  an  older  Christian  church  now  remains  in 
Europe.  There  certainly  is  none  that  can  claim 
more  interest  for  Englishmen  and  for  descendants 
of  Englishmen  in  the  New  World.  St.  Martin's 
is  somewhat  removed  from  the  town,  where  it 
stands  alone  on  a  sloping  knoll,  and  is  very  simple 
in  form.  The  tower  that  rises  over  the  doorway 
is  built  of  plain  Roman  brick  and  broken  flint 
stones,  and  has  occasionally  a  piece  of  drcst  stone 
on  corners.  The  tower  is  square  and  rises  about 
ten  feet  above  the  roof.  Almost  any  mason  could 
have  built  this  church.  A  luxuriant  growth  of  ivy 
covers  nearly  all  its  parts.  Rude  in  outline  and 
finish  are  all  its  parts,  ivy  has  added  to  St.  Mar- 
tin's the  only  beauty  it  could  possibly  claim. 

The  interior  bears  heavier  marks  of  age  than  do 
the  walls  outside.  The  chancel  has  walls  built 
almost  entirely  of  Roman  brick,  and  the  nave  is 
without  columns.  The  old  font — certainly  one  of 
the  first  constructed  in  England — stands  in  the 
chancel.  It  was  probably  from  this  font  that 
King  Ethelbert  was  baptized.  Both  chronicle  and 
tradition  say  good  Bertha  was  buried  here.    A  re- 

76 


CATHEDRALS  AND  ABBEYS 


cess  in  the  wall  of  the  chancel  contains  an  old 
stone  coffm,  which  is  believed  to  contain  the  dust 
of  England's  first  Christian  queen.  Standing  with- 
in this  ancient  structure,  one  feels  that  he  has 
reached  the  source  for  Anglo-Saxon  people  of  this 
modem  faith,  Christianity,  and  the  civilization  it 
lias  given  to  the  world.  A  new  race  of  pilgrims, 
as  numerous  as  those  who  went  to  Beeket's  shrine, 
might  well  find  as  worthy  an  object  of  their  gifts 
and  their  journeys  in  this  ivy-mantled  relic  of  an- 
cient days. 


OLD   YORK* 

BY   WILLIAM    WINTER 

The  pilgrim  to  York  stands  in  the  center  of  the 
largest  shire  in  England,  and  is  surrounded  by 
castles  and  monasteries,  now  mostly  in  niins,  but 
teeming  with  those  associations  of  history  and 
literature  that  are  the  glory  of  this  delightful 
land.  From  the  summit  of  the  great  central  tower 
of  the  cathedral,  which  is  reached  by  237  steps,  I 
gazed,  one  morning,  over  the  vale  of  York  and  be- 
held one  of  the  loveliest  spectacles  that  ever  blest 
the  eyes  of  man.  The  wind  was  fierce,  the  sun 
brilliant,  and  the  vanquished  storm-clouds  were 
streaming  away  before  the  northern  blast.  Far 
beneath  lay  the  red-roofed  city,  its  devious  lanes 
and  its  many  great  churches, — crumbling  relics  of 
ancient    ecclesiastical    power, — distinctly    visible. 

*From  "Gray  Days  and  Gold."  By  arrangement 
with  the  publishers,  Moffat,  Yard  &  Co.  Copyright  by 
William  Winter,   1890. 

77 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

Through  the  plain,  and  far  away  toward  the  south 
and  east,  ran  the  silver  thread  of  the  Ouse,  while 
all  around,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  see,  stretched 
forth  a  smiling  landscape  of  green  meadow  and 
cultivated  field;  here  a  patch  of  woodland,  and 
there  a  silver  gleam  of  wave;  here  a  manor  house 
nestled  amid  stately  trees,  and  there  an  ivy-covered 
fragment  of  ruined  masonry;  and  everywhere  the 
green  lines  of  the  flowering  hedge.  .    .    . 

In  the  city  that  lies  at  your  feet  stood  once  the 
potent  Constantine,  to  be  proclaimed  Emperor,  a.d. 
306,  and  to  be  vested  with  the  imperial  purple 
of  Rome.  In  the  original  York  Minster  (the 
present  is  the  fourth  church  that  has  been  erected 
upon  this  site)  was  buried  that  valiant  soldier, 
"old  Siward,"  whom  "gracious  England"  lent  to 
the  Scottish  cause,  under  Malcolm  and  Macduff, 
when  time  at  length  was  ripe  for  the  ruin  of 
Glamis  and  Cawdor.  Close  by  is  the  field  of  Stam- 
ford, where  Harold  defeated  the  Norwegians  with 
terrible  slaughter,  only  nine  days  before  he  was 
himself  defeated,  and  slain,  at  Hastings.  South- 
ward, following  the  line  of  the  Ouse,  you  look 
down  upon  the  ruins  of  Clifford's  Tower,  built  by 
King  William  the  Conqueror  in  1068,  and  de- 
stroyed by  the  explosion  of  its  powder  magazine 
in  1684.  Not  far  away  is  the  battlefield  of  Tow- 
ton.  King  Henry  the  Sixth  and  Queen  Margaret 
were  waiting  in  York  for  news  of  the  event  of  that 
fatal  battle, — which,  in  its  effect,  made  them 
exiles,  and  bore  to  supremacy  the  rightful  standard 
of  the  White  Rose.  In  this  church  King  Edward 
the  Fourth  was  crowned,  1464,  and  King  Richard 
the  Third  was  proclaimed  king  and  had  his  second 
coronation. 

78 


CATHEDRALS  AND  ABBEYS 


Southward  you  can  see  the  open  space  called 
the  Pavement,  connecting  with  Parliament  Street, 
and  the  red  brick  church  of  St.  Crux.  In  the 
Pavement  the  Earl  of  Northumberland  was  be- 
headed for  treason  against  Queen  Elizabeth,  in 
1572,  and  in  St.  Crux,  one  of  Wren's  churches,  his 
remains  lie  buried,  beneath  a  dark  blue  slab  which 
is  shown  to  visitors.  A  few  miles  away,  but  easily 
within  reach  of  your  vision,  is  the  field  of  Marston 
Moor,  where  the  impetuous  Prince  Rupert  im- 
periled and  well-nigh  lost  the  cause  of  King 
Charles  the  First  in  1644;  and  as  you  look  toward 
that  fatal  spot  you  almost  hear,  in  the  chamber  of 
your  fancy,  the  paeans  of  thanksgiving  for  the 
victory,  that  were  uttered  in  the  church  beneath. 
Cromwell,  then  a  subordinate  officer  in  the  Par- 
liamentary army,  was  one  of  the  worshipers.  Of 
the  fifteen  kings,  from  William  of  Normandy  to 
Henry  of  Windsor,  whose  sculptured  effigies  ap- 
pear upon  the  chancel  screen  in  York  j\Iinster, 
there  is  scarcely  one  who  has  not  worshiped  in  this 
cathedral.   .    .    . 

There  it  stands,  symbolizing,  as  no  other  object 
on  earth  can  ever  do,  except  one  of  its  own 
great  kindred,  the  promise  of  immortal  life  to 
man  and  man's  pathetic  faith  in  that  promise. 
Dark  and  lonely  it  comes  back  upon  my  ^dsion, 
but  during  all  hours  of  its  daily  and  nightly  life 
sentient,  eloquent,  vital,  participating  in  all  the 
thought,  conduct,  and  experience  of  those  who 
dwell  around  it.   .    .    . 

York  is  the  loftiest  of  all  the  English  cathedrals, 
and  the  third  in  length, — both  St.  Alban's  and 
Winchester  being  longer.  The  present  structure 
is  600  years  old,  and  more  than  200  years  were 


79 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

occupied  in  the  building  of  it.  They  show  you, 
in  the  crypt,  some  fine  remains  of  the  Noi*man 
church  that  preceded  it  on  the  same  site,  together 
with  traces  of  the  still  older  Saxon  church  that 
preceded  the  Norman.  The  first  one  was  of  wood, 
and  was  totally  destroyed.  The  Saxon  remains  are 
a  fragment  of  stone  staircase  and  a  piece  of  wall 
built  in  the  ancient  herring-bone  fashion.  The 
Norman  remains  are  four  clustered  columns,  em- 
bellished in  the  zig-zag  style.  There  is  not  much  of 
commemorative  statuaiy  at  York,  and  what  there 
is  of  it  was  placed  chiefly  in  the  chancel. 


YORK  AND  LINCOLN  COMPARED* 

BY  EDWARD  A.    FREEMAN 

The  towers  of  Lincoln,  simply  as  towers,  are  im- 
measurably finer  than  those  of  York;  but  the  front 
of  York,  as  a  front,  far  surpasses  the  front  of 
Lincoln. 

As  for  the  general  outline,  there  can  be  no  doubt 
as  to  the  vast  superiority  of  Lincoln.  Lincoln  has 
sacrificed  a  great  deal  to  the  enormous  pitch  of  its 
roofs,  but  it  has  its  reward  in  the  distant  view  of 
the  outside.  The  outline  of  York  is  spoiled  by  the 
incongruity  between  the  low  roofs  of  the  nave 
and  choir  and  the  high  roofs  of  the  transepts. 
The  dumpiness  of  the  central  tower  of  York — 
which  is,  in  truth,  the  original  Norman  tower  cased 
— can  not  be  wholly  made  a  matter  of  blame  to  the 
original  builders.  For  it  is  clear  that  some  finish, 
whether  a  crown  like  those  at  Newcastle  and  Edin- 

*From  "English  Towns  and  Districts." 

80 


CATHEDRALS  AND  ABBEYS 


burgh  or  any  other,  was  intended.  Still  the  pra- 
portion  which  is  solemn  in  Romanesque  becomes 
squat  in  perpendicular,  and,  if  York  has  never 
received  its  last  finish,  Lincoln  has  lost  the  last 
finish  which  it  received.  Surely  no  one  who  is 
not  locally  sworn  to  the  honor  of  York  can  doubt 
about  preferring  the  noble  central  tower  of  Lin- 
coln, soaring  still,  even  tho  shorn  of  its  spire.  The 
eastern  transept,  again,  is  far  more  skilfully  man- 
aged at  Lincoln  than  at  Y^ork.  It  may  well  be 
doubted  whether  such  a  transept  is  really  an  im- 
provement; but  if  it  is  to  be  there  at  all,  it  is 
certainly  better  to  make  it  the  bold  and  important 
feature  which  it  is  at  Lincoln,  than  to  leave  it,  as  it 
is  at  York,  half  afraid,  as  it  were,  to  proclaim  its 
own  existence. 

Coming  to  the  east  end,  we  again  find,  as  at  the 
west,  Lincoln  throwing  away  great  advaatages  by 
a  perverse  piece  of  sham.  The  east  window  of  Lin- 
coln is  the  very  noblest  specimen  of  the  pure  and 
bold  tracery  of  its  own  date.  But  it  is  crusht, 
as  it  were,  by  the  huge  gable  window  above  it — big 
enough  to  be  the  east  window  of  a  large  church — 
and  the  aisles,  whose  east  windows  are  as  good  on 
their  smaller  scale  as  the  great  window,  are  ab- 
surdly finished  with  sham  gables,  destroying  the 
real  and  natural  outline  of  the  whole  composition. 
At  York  we  have  no  gables  at  all;  the  vast  east 
window,  with  its  many  flimsy  mullions,  is  wonder- 
ful rather  than  beautiful ;  still  the  east  end  of  York 
is  real,  and  so  far  it  surpasses  that  of  Lincoln. 

On  entering  either  of  these  noble  churches,  the 
great  fault  to  be  found  is  the  lack  of  apparent 
height.  To  some  extent  this  is  due  to  a  cause  com- 
mon to  both.    We  are  convinced  that  both  churches 


1—6  81 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

are  too  loug.  The  eastern  part  of  Lincoln — the 
angels'  choir — ^is  in  itself  one  of  the  loveliest  of 
human  works;  the  proportion  of  the  side  eleva- 
tions and  the  beauty  of  the  details  are  both  simply 
perfect.  But  its  addition  has  spoiled  the  minster 
as  a  whole.  The  vast  length  at  one  unbroken  height 
gives  to  the  eastern  view  of  the  inside  the  effect 
of  looking  through  a  tube,  and  the  magnificent  east 
window,  when  seen  from  the  western  part  of  the 
choir,  is  utterly  dwarfed.  And  the  same  arrange- 
ment is  open  to  the  further  objection  that  it  does 
not  fall  in  with  the  ecclestiastical  arrangements  of 
the  building.     .     .     . 

In  the  nave  of  York,  looking  eastward  or  west- 
ward, it  is  hard  indeed  to  believe  that  we  are  in  a 
church  only  a  few  feet  lower  than  Westminster  or 
Saint  Ouens.  The  height  is  utterly  lost,  partly 
through  the  enormous  width,  partly  through  the 
low  and  crushing  shape  of  the  vaulting-arch.  The 
vault,  it  must  be  remembered,  is  an  imitation  of  an 
imitation,  a  modern  copy  of  a  wooden  roof  made 
to  imitate  stone.  This  imitation  of  stone  construc- 
tion in  wood  runs  through  the  greater  part  of  the 
church;  it  comes  out  specially  in  the  transepts, 
where  a  not  very  successful  attempt  is  made  to 
bring  the  gable  windows  within  the  vault — the  very 
opposite  to  the  vast  space  lost  in  the  roofs  at  Lin- 
coln. Yet  with  all  this,  many  noble  views  may 
be  got  in  York  nave  and  transepts,  provided  only 
the  beholder  takes  care  never  to  look  due  east  or 
west.  Tlie  western  view  is  still  further  injured  by 
the  treatment  of  the  west  window — in  itself  an 
admirable  piece  of  tracery — which  fits  into  noth- 
ing, and  seems  cut  through  the  wall  at  an  arbi- 
trary point.    But  the  nave  elevation,  taken  bay  by 

82 


CATHEDRALS  AND  ABBEYS 


bay,  is  admirable.  Lookino^  across  out  of  the  aisle 
— the  true  way  to  judge — the  real  height  at  last 
comes  out,  and  we  are  reminded  of  some  of  the 
most  stately  minsters  of  France.     ,     .    . 


DURHAM* 

BY  NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE 

Durham  Cathedral  has  one  advantage  over  the 
others  I  have  seen,  there  being  no  organ-screen, 
nor  any  sort  of  partition  between  the  choir  and 
nave;  so  that  we  saw  its  entire  length,  nearly  500 
feet,  in  one  vista.  The  pillars  of  the  nave  are  im- 
mensely thick,  but  hardly  of  proportionate  height, 
and  they  support  the  round  Norman  arch;  nor  is 
there,  as  far  as  I  remember,  a  single  pointed  arch 
in  the  cathedral.  The  effect  is  to  give  the  edifice 
an  air  of  hea\y  grandeur.  It  seems  to  have 
been  built  before  the  best  style  of  church  archi- 
tecture had  established  itself;  so  that  it  weighs 
upon  the  soul,  instead  of  helping  it  to  aspire. 
First,  there  are  these  round  arches,  supported  by 
gigantic  columns ;  then,  immediately  above,  another 
row  of  round  arches,  behind  which  is  the  usual 
gallery  that  runs,  as  it  were,  in  the  thickness  of 
the  wall,  around  the  nave  of  the  cathedral;  then, 
above  all,  another  row  of  round  arches,  enclosing 
the  windows  of  the  clere-story. 

The  great  pillars  are  ornamented  in  various 
ways — some  with  a  great   spiral  groove  running 

*Poni  "English  Note  Books."  By  arrangement  with, 
and  by  permission  of,  the  publishers  of  Hawthorne's 
works,  Houghton,  Mifflin  Co.    Copyright,  1870  and  1898. 

83 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

from  bottom  to  top;  others  with  two  spirals,  as- 
cending in  different  directions,  so  as  to  cross  over 
one  another;  some  are  fluted  or  channeled  straight 
up  and  down;  some  are  wrought  with  chevrons, 
like  those  on  the  sleeve  of  a  police  inspector. 
There  are  zigzag  cuttings  and  carvings,  which  I  do 
not  know  how  to  name  scientifically,  round  the 
arches  of  the  doors  and  windows;  but  nothing  that 
seems  to  have  flowered  out  spontaneously,  as  natu- 
ral incidents  of  a  grand  and  beautiful  design.  In 
the  nave,  between  the  columns  of  the  side  aisles,  I 
saw  one  or  two  monuments.     .     .     . 

I  left  my  seat,  and  after  strolling  up  and  down 
the  aisle  a  few  times  sallied  forth  into  the  church- 
yard. On  the  cathedral  door  there  is  a  curious 
old  knocker,  in  the  form  of  a  monstrous  face, 
which  was  placed  there,  centuries  ago,  for  the 
benefit  of  fugitives  from  justice,  who  used  to  be 
entitled  to  sanctuary  here.  The  exterior  of  the 
cathedral,  being  huge,  is  therefore  grand;  it  has 
a  great  central  tower,  and  two  at  the  w^estern  end; 
and  reposes  in  vast  and  heavy  length,  without  the 
multitude  of  niches,  and  crumbling  statues,  and 
richness  of  detail,  that  make  the  towers  and  fronts 
of  some  cathedrals  so  endlessly  interesting.  One 
piece  of  sculpture  I  remember — a  carving  of  a 
cow,  a  milkmaid,  and  a  monk,  in  reference  to  the 
legend  that  the  site  of  the  cathedral  was,  in  some 
way,  determined  by  a  woman  bidding  her  cow  go 
home  to  Dunholme.  Cadmus  was  guided  to  the 
site  of  his  destined  city  in  some  such  way  as  this. 

It  was  a  very  beautiful  day,  and  tho  the  shadow 
of  the  cathedral  fell  on  this  side,  yet,  it  being 
about  noontide,  it  did  not  cover  the  churchyard 
entirely,  but  left  many  of  the  graves  in  sunshine. 

84 


CATHEDRALS  AND  ABBEYS 


There  were  not  a  great  many  monuments,  and 
these  were  chiefly  horizontal  slabs,  some  of  which 
looked  aged,  but  on  closer  inspection  proved  to  be 
mostly  of  the  present  century.  I  observed  an  old 
stone  figure,  however,  half  worn  away,  which 
seemed  to  have  something  like  a  bishop's  miter 
on  its  head,  and  may  perhaps  have  lain  in  the 
proudest  chapel  of  the  cathedral  before  occupjdng 
its  present  bed  among  the  gi-ass.  About  fifteen 
paces  from  the  central  tower,  and  within  its  shadow, 
I  found  a  weather-worn  slab  of  marble,  seven  or 
eight  feet  long,  the  inscription  on  which  interested 
me  somewhat.  It  was  to  the  memory  of  Robert 
Dodsley,  the  bookseller,  Johnson's  acquaintance, 
who,  as  his  tombstone  rather  superciliously  avers, 
had  made  a  much  better  figure  as  an  author  than 
"could  have  been  expected  in  his  rank  of  life." 
But,  after  all,  it  is  inevitable  that  a  man's  tomb- 
stone should  look  down  on  him,  or,  at  all  events, 
comport  itself  toward  him  "de  haut  en  bas."  I 
love  to  find  the  graves  of  men  connected  with  lit- 
erature. They  interest  me  more,  even  tho  of  no 
great  eminence,  than  those  of  persons  far  more 
illustrious  in  other  walks  of  life.  I  know  not 
whether  this  is  because  I  happen  to  be  one  of  the 
literary  kindred,  or  because  all  men  feel  them- 
selves akin,  and  on  terms  of  intimacy,  mth  those 
whom  they  know,  or  might  have  known,  in  books. 
I  rather  believe  that  the  latter  is  the  case. 

We  went  around  the  edifice,  and,  passing  into 
the  close,  penetrated  through  an  arched  passage 
into  the  crypt,  which,  methought,  was  in  a  better 
style  of  architecture  than  the  nave  and  choir.  .  .  . 
Thence  we  went  into  the  cloisters,  which  are  en- 
tire, but  not  particularly  interesting.    Indeed,  this 

85 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

cathedral  has  not  taken  hold  of  my  affections,  ex- 
cept in  one  aspect,  when  it  was  exceedingly  grand 
and  beautiful. 

ELY* 

BY  JAMES  M.  HOPPIN 

I  was  attracted  around  by  the  way  of  Ely,  to  see 
the  cathedral  there,  instead  of  taking  the  Hunt- 
ingdon route  more  directly  to  Cambridge.  This 
was  quite  a  loss,  for  Oliver  Cromwell  was  born  in 
Huntingdon.  Hinchinbroke  House,  the  property 
of  his  family,  now  belongs  to  the  Earl  of  Sand- 
wich. 

But  Ely  Cathedral  was  not  to  be  lost.  It  is 
frozen  history  as  well  as  "frozen  music."  I  value 
these  old  structures  because  such  wealth  of  English 
history  is  embodied  in  them;  their  human  interest, 
after  all,  is  greater  than  their  artistic.  Ely  is  said 
to  be  derived  from  "willow,"  or  a  kind  of  willow 
or  ozier  island,  upon  which  the  abbey  and  town 
were  built  in  the  midst  of  marshes.  Among  these 
impenetrable  marshes  Hereward  the  Saxon  re- 
treated; and  here,  too,  we  have  that  bit  of  genuine 
antique  poetry  which  from  its  simplicity  must 
have  described  a  true  scene;  and  we  catch  a  glimpse 
of  that  pleasing  and  soothing  picture,  amid  those 
rude  and  bloody  days,  of  King  Canute  and  his 
knights  resting  for  a  moment  upon  their  toiling 
oars  to  hear  the  vesper  song  of  the  monks. 

The  foundation  of  the  cathedral  was  laid  in  1083, 
and  it  was  finished  in  1534.    In  printed  lists  of  its 

♦From  "Old  P]ngland:  Its  Scenery,  Art,  and  People." 
Published  by  Houghton,  Mifflin  Co. 

86 


CATHEDRALS  AND  ABBEYS 


bishops,  as  in  those  of  other  Eng-lish  cathedral 
churches,  I  have  noticed  that  they  are  given  in  their 
chronological  succession,  right  on,  the  bishops  of 
the  Reformed  Church  being  linked  upon  the  Roman 
Catholic  bishops.  The  bishopric  of  Ely  was  par- 
tially carved  out  of  the  bishopric  of  Lincoln,  and 
comprizes  Cambridge  in  its  jurisdiction.  It  has, 
therefore,  had  all  the  riches,  influence,  taste,  and 
learning  of  the  University  to  bear  upon  the  res- 
toration of  its  noble  old  cathedral ;  and  of  all  the  old 
churches  of  England  this  one  exhibits  indications 
of  the  greatest  modem  care  and  thought  bestowed 
upon  it.  It  glows  with  new  stained-glass  win- 
dows, splendid  marbles,  exquisite  sculptures,  and 
bronze  work.  Its  western  tower,  266  feet  in 
height,  turreted  spires,  central  octagon  tower,  fly- 
ing buttresses,  unequaled  length  of  517  feet,  and  its 
vast,  irregular  bulk  soaring  above  the  insignificant 
little  town  at  its  foot,  make  it  a  most  commanding 
object  seen  from  the  flat  plain. 

Wliat  is  called  the  octagon,  which  has  taken  the 
place  of  the  central  tower  that  had  fallen,  is  quite 
an  original  feature  of  the  church.  Eight  arches, 
rising  from  eight  ponderous  piers,  form  a  win- 
dowed tower,  or  lantern,  which  lets  in  a  flood  of 
light  upon  the  otherwise  gloomy  interior.  Above 
the  keystone  of  each  arch  is  the  carv^ed  figure  of  a 
saint.  The  new  brasses  of  the  choir  are  wonder- 
fully elaborate.  The  bronze  scroll  and  vine  work 
of  the  gates  and  lamps,  for  grace  and  Oriental 
luxuriance  of  fancy,  for  their  arabesque  and  flower 
designs,  might  fitly  have  belonged  to  King  Solo- 
mon's Temple  of  old.  The  modern  woodwork  of 
the  choir  compares  also  well  with  the  ancient  wood- 
work carving.     Gold  stars  on  azure  ground,  and 


87 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

all  vivid  coloring  and  gilding,  are  freely  used. 
The  new  "reredos,"  or  altar  screen,  is  one  mar- 
velous crystallization  of  sculptures.  The  ancient 
Purbeek  marble  pillars  have  been  scraped  and  re- 
polished,  and  form  a  fine  contrast  to  the  white 
marbles  on  which  they  are  set.  If,  indeed,  one 
wishes  to  see  what  modern  enthusiasm,  art,  and 
lavish  wealth  can  do  for  the  restoration  and  adorn- 
ing of  one  of  these  old  temples,  he  must  go  to 
Ely  Cathedral. 


SALISBURY* 

BY  NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE 

I  do  not  remember  any  cathedral  with  so  fine  a 
site  as  this,  rising  up  out  of  the  center  of  a  beau- 
tiful green,  extensive  enough  to  show  its  full  pro- 
portions, relieved  and  insulated  from  all  other 
patchwork  and  impertinence  of  rusty  edifices.  It 
is  of  gray  stone,  and  looks  as  perfect  as  when 
just  finished,  and  with  the  perfection,  too,  that 
could  not  have  come  in  less  than  six  centuries  of 
venerableness,  with  a  view  to  which  these  edifices 
geem  to  have  been  built.  A  new  cathedral  would 
lack  the  last  touch  to  its  beauty  and  grandeur. 
It  needs  to  be  mellowed  and  ripened,  like  some 
pictures;  altho  I  suppose  this  awfulness  of  an- 
tiquity was  supplied,  in  the  minds  of  the  genera- 
tion that  built  cathedrals,  by  the  sanctity  which 
they  attributed  to  them. 

*From  "English  Note  Books."  By  arrangement 
with,  and  by  permission  of,  the  publishers  of  Haw- 
thorne's works,  Houghton,  Mifflin  Co.  Copyriglit,  1870 
and  1898. 

88 


CATHEDRALS  AND  ABBEYS 


Salisbury  Cathedral  is  far  more  beautiful  than 
that  of  York,  the  exterior  of  which  was  really  dis- 
agreeable to  my  eye;  but  this  mighty  spire  and 
these  multitudinous  gray  pinnacles  and  towers  as- 
cend toward  heaven  with  a  kind  of  natural  beauty, 
not  as  if  man  had  contrived  them.  They  might 
be  fancied  to  have  grown  up,  just  as  the  spires 
of  a  tuft  of  grass  do,  at  the  same  time  that  they 
have  a  law  of  propriety  and  regularity  among 
themselves.  The  tall  spire  is  of  such  admirable 
proportion  that  it  does  not  seem  gigantic;  and, 
indeed,  the  effect  of  the  whole  edifice  is  of  beauty 
rather  than  weight  and  massiveness.  Perhaps  the 
bright,  balmy  sunshine  in  which  we  saw  it  con- 
tributed to  give  it  a  tender  gloiy,  and  to  soften 
a  little  its  majesty. 

When  Ave  went  in,  we  heard  the  organ,  the  fore- 
noon service  being  near  conclusion.  If  I  had 
never  seen  the  interior  of  York  Cathedral,  I 
should  have  been  quite  satisfied,  no  doubt,  with 
the  spaciousness  of  this  nave  and  these  side  aisles, 
and  the  height  of  their  arches,  and  the  girth  of 
these  pillars;  but  with  that  recollection  in  my 
mind  they  fell  a  little  short  of  grandeur.  The 
interior  is  seen  to  disadvantage,  and  in  a  way  the 
builder  never  meant  it  to  be  seen;  because  there 
is  little  or  no  painted  glass,  nor  any  such  mystery 
as  it  makes,  but  only  a  colorless,  common  daylight, 
revealing  everything  without  remorse.  There  is  a 
general  light  hue,  moreover,  like  that  of  white- 
wash, over  the  whole  of  the  roof  and  walls  of  the 
interior,  pillar,  monuments,  and  all;  whereas,  orig- 
inally, every  pillar  was  polished,  and  the  ceiling 
was  ornamented  in  brilliant  colors,  and  the  light 
came,  many-hued,  through  the  windows,  on  all  this 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

elaborate  beauty,  in  lieu  of  which  there  is  nothing 
now  but  space. 

BetT\^een  the  pillars  that  separate  the  nave  from 
the  side  aisles  there  are  ancient  tombs,  most  of 
which  have  recumbent  statues  on  them.  One  of 
these  is  Longsword,  Earl  of  Salisbury,  son  of  Fair 
Rosamond,  in  chain  mail ;  and  there  are  many  other 
warriors  and  bishops,  and  one  cross-legged  Cru- 
sader, and  on  one  tombstone  a  recumbent  skele- 
ton, which  I  have  likewise  seen  in  two  or  three 
other  cathedrals.  The  pavement  of  the  aisles  and 
nave  is  laid  in  great  part  with  flat  tombstones,  the 
inscriptions  on  which  are  half  obliterated,  and  on 
the  walls,  especially  in  the  transepts,  there  are 
tablets,  among  which  I  saw  one  to  the  poet  Bowles, 
who  was  a  canon  of  the  cathedral.     .     .     . 

Between  the  nave  and  the  choir,  as  usual,  there 
is  a  screen  that  half  destroys  the  majesty  of  the 
building,  by  abridging  the  spectator  of  the  long 
vista  which  he  might  otherwise  have  of  the  whole 
interior  at  a  glance.  We  peeped  through  the  bar- 
rier, and  saw  some  elaborate  monuments  in  the 
chancel  beyond;  but  the  doors  of  the  screen  are 
kept  locked,  so  that  the  vergers  may  raise  a  revenue 
by  showing  stransrers  through  the  richest  part  of 
the  cathedral.  By  and  by  one  of  these  vergers 
came  through  the  screen  with  a  gentleman  and  lady 
whom  he  was  taking  around,  and  we  joined  our- 
selves to  the  party.  He  showed  us  into  the  clois- 
ters, which  had  long  been  neglected  and  ruinous, 
until  the  time  of  Bishop  Dennison,  the  last  prelate, 
who  has  been  but  a  few  years  dead.  This  bishop 
has  repaired  and  restored  the  cloisters  in  faithful 
adherence  to  the  original  plan ;  and  they  now  form 
a  most  delightful  walk  about  a  pleasant  and  ver- 

90 


CATHEDRALS  AND  ABBEYS 


dant  enclosure,  in  the  center  of  which  sleeps  good 
Bishop  Dennison,  with  a  wife  on  either  side  of 
him,  all  three  beneath  broad  flat  stones. 

Most  cloisters  are  darksome  and  grim;  but  these 
have  a  broad  paved  walk  beneath  the  vista  of 
arches,  and  are  light,  airy,  and  cheerful;  and 
from  one  corner  jou  can  get  the  best  possible  view 
of  the  whole  height  and  beautiful  proportion  of  the 
cathedral  spire.  On  one  side  of  this  cloistered 
walk  seems  to  be  the  length  of  the  nave  of  the 
cathedral.  There  is  a  square  of  four  such  sides; 
and  of  places  for  meditation,  grave,  yet  not  too 
somber,  it  seemed  to  me  one  of  the  best.  While 
we  staj^ed  there,  a  jackdaw  was  walking  to  and 
fro  across  the  grassy  enclosure,  and  haunting 
around  the  good  bishop's  grave.  He  was  clad  in 
black,  and  looked  like  a  feathered  ecclesiastic ;  but 
I  know  not  whether  it  were  Bishop  Dennison's 
ghost  or  that  of  some  old  monk. 

On  one  side  of  the  cloisters,  and  contiguous  to 
the  main  body  of  the  cathedral,  stands  the  chapter- 
house. Bishop  Dennison  had  it  much  at  heart  to 
repair  this  part  of  the  holy  edifice;  and,  if  I  mis- 
take not,  did  begin  the  work;  for  it  had  been  long 
ruinous,  and  in  Cromwell's  time  his  dragoons  sta- 
tioned their  horses  there.  Little  progress,  however, 
had  been  made  in  the  repairs  when  the  bishop 
died ;  and  it  was  decided  to  restore  the  building  in 
his  honor,  and  by  way  of  monument  to  him.  The 
repaii-s  are  now  nearly  completed ;  and  the  interior 
of  this  chapter-house  gave  me  the  first  idea,  any- 
wise adequate,  of  the  splendor  of  these  Gothic 
church  edifices.  The  roof  is  sustained  by  one  great 
central  pillar  of  polished  marble — small  pillars 
clustered  about  a  great  central  column,  which  rises 


91 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

to  the  ceiling,  and  there  gushes  out  with  various 
beauty,  that  overflows  all  the  walls;  as  if  the  fluid 
idea  had  sprung  out  of  that  fountain,  and  grown 
solid  in  what  we  see.  The  pavement  is  elaborately 
ornamented;  the  ceiling  is  to  be  brilliantly  gilded 
and  painted,  as  it  was  of  yore,  and  the  tracery  and 
sculptures  around  the  walls  are  to  be  faithfully 
renewed  from  what  remains  of  the  original  pat- 
terns. 


EXETER* 

BY  ANNA  BOWMAN  DODD 

A  very  obvious  part  of  the  charm  of  Exeter 
Cathedral  lies  in  the  fact  that  it  has  to  be  sought 
for.  It  is  so  well  and  dexterously  concealed  from 
view,  as  one  passes  along  High  Street,  that  one 
might  be  some  days  in  town  without  so  much  as 
suspecting  that  one  of  the  finest  cathedrals  in 
England  was  a  near  neighbor.  It  was  almost  by 
chance,  I  remember,  that  as  we  turned  into  a  long, 
quaint  alley-way,  filled  up  with  little,  low  shops,  we 
caught  a  glimpse  of  a  green  plot  of  grass  and 
some  trees  in  the  distance.  Our  guiding  instinct 
divined   these  to  be  the  cathedral   close.     .     .     . 

To  analyze  the  beauties  of  Exeter  is  only  to  add 
another  note  to  one's  joy  in  them,  their  quality 
and  rarity  being  of  such  an  order  as  to  warrant 
one's  cooler  admiration.  The  front  is  as  unique 
in  design  as  it  is  architecturally  beautiful.  There 
is  that  rarest  of  features  in  English  cathedrals — 

•From  "Cathedral  Days."  By  arrangement  with, 
and  by  permission  of,  the  publishers,  Little,  Brown  & 
Co.     Copyright,  1887. 

92 


CATHEDIULS  AND  ABBEYS 


an  elaborately  sculptured  screen,  thoroughly  hon- 
est in  construction.  In  originality  of  conception 
this  front  is  perhaps  unrivalled,  at  least  on  Eng- 
lish soil;  there  are  three  receding  stories,  so  admi- 
rably proportioned  as  to  produce  a  beautiful  effect 
in  perspective.  The  glory  of  the  great  west  win- 
dow is  further  enhanced  by  the  graduated  arcades 
which  have  the  appearance  of  receding  behind  it. 
Above  the  west  window  rises  a  second  and  smaller 
triangular  window  in  the  gabled  roof. 

Thus  the  triangular  motif  is  sustained  through- 
out, from  the  three  low  doorways  in  the  screen 
up  to  the  far-distant  roof.  This  complete  and 
harmonious  front  is  nobly  enriched  by  the  splen- 
did note  of  contrast  in  the  two  transeptal  Norman 
towers,  whose  massive  structural  elegance  and 
elaborateness  of  detail  lend  an  extraordinary 
breadth  and  solidity  to  the  edifice. 

The  grandeur  which  distinguishes  the  exterior 
is  only  a  fitting  preparation  for  the  solemnity 
and  splendor  of  the  interior.  Passing  beneath  the 
thickly  massed  sculptures  of  the  low  portals,  the 
effect  of  the  vastness  of  the  nave  is  striking  in  its 
immensity.  Curiously  enough,  in  this  instance, 
this  effect  of  immensity  is  not  due  to  an  unbroken 
stretch  of  nave-aisles  or  to  a  lengthy  procession 
of  pier-arches,  but  to  the  magnificent  sweep  of  the 
unencumbered  vaulting  in  the  roof.  An  organ 
screen  intercepts  the  line  of  vision  at  the  entrance 
to  the  choir.  This,  however,  is  the  sole  obstruction 
which  the  eye  encounters.  Above,  the  great  roof, 
with  its  unbroken  300  feet  of  interlacing  lines, 
rises  like  some  mighty  forest,  its  airy  loftiness 
giving  to  the  entire  interior  a  certain  open-air 
atmosphere  of  breadth  and  vastness.    ... 


93 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

What  most  deeply  concerned  us  was  the  desire 
to  secure  an  uninterrupted  session  of  contempla- 
tive enjoyment.  We  had  lost  our  hearts  to  the 
beauty  of  the  cathedral,  and  cared  little  or  nothing 
for  a  clever  dissecting  of  its  parts.  We  came 
again  and  again ;  and  it  was  the  glory  of  the  cathe- 
dral as  a  whole — its  expressive,  noble  character, 
its  breadth  and  grandeur,  the  poetry  of  its  dusky 
aisles,  and  the  play  of  the  rich  shadows  about  its 
massive  columns — that  channed  and  enchained  us.  It 
was  one  of  the  few  English  cathedrals,  we  said  to 
each  other,  that  possess  the  Old- World  continental 
charm,  the  charm  of  perpetual  entertainment,  and 
whose  beauty  has  just  the  right  quality  of  richness 
and  completeness  to  evoke  an  intense  and  personal 
sympathy;  for  in  all  the  greatest  triumphs  of  art 
there  is  something  supremely  human. 


LICHFIELD* 

BY  NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE 

I  know  not  what  rank  the  Cathedral  of  Lich- 
field holds  among  its  sister  edifices  in  England, 
as  a  piece  of  magnificent  architecture.  Except  that 
of  Chester  (the  grim  and  simple  nave  of  which 
stands  yet  unrivaled  in  my  memory),  and  one  or 
two  small  ones  in  North  Wales,  hardly  worthy  of 
the  name  of  cathedrals,  it  was  the  first  that  I  had 
seen.  To  my  uninstructed  vision,  it  seemed  the 
object  best  worth  gazing  at  in  the  whole  world; 
and  now,  after  beholding  a  great  many  more,  I 

•From  "Our  Old  Home."  Published  by  Houghton, 
Mifflin  Co. 

94 


CATHEDRALS  AND  ABBEYS 


remember  it  with  less  prodigal  admiration  only 
because  others  are  as  magnificent  as  itself.  The 
traces  remaining  in  my  memory  represent  it  as  airy 
rather  than  massive.  A  multitude  of  beautiful 
shapes  appeared  to  be  comprehended  within  its 
single  outline;  it  was  a  kind  of  kaleidoscopic 
mystery,  so  rich  a  variety  of  aspects  did  it  assume 
from  each  altered  point  of  view,  through  the 
presentation  of  a  different  face,  and  the  rearrange- 
ment of  its  peaks  and  pinnacles  and  the  three 
battlemented  towers,  with  the  spires  that  shot 
heavenward  from  all  three,  but  one  loftier  than 
its  fellows. 

Thus  it  imprest  you,  at  every  change,  as  a 
newly  created  structure  of  the  passing  moment, 
in  which  yet  you  lovingly  recognized  the  half- 
vanished  structure  of  the  instant  before,  and  felt, 
moreover,  a  joyful  faith  in  the  indestructible  ex- 
istence of  all  this  cloudlike  vicissitude.  A  Gothic 
cathedral  is  surely  the  most  wonderful  work  which 
mortal  man  has  yet  achieved,  so  vast,  so  intricate, 
and  so  profoundly  simple,  with  such  strange,  de- 
lightful recesses  in  its  grand  figure,  so  difficult  to 
comprehend  within  one  idea,  and  yet  all  so  con- 
sonant that  it  ultimately  draws  the  beholder  and 
his  universe  into  its  harmony.  It  is  the  only  thing 
in  the  world  that  is  vast  enough  and  rich  enough. 

Inside  of  the  minster  there  is  a  long  and  lofty 
nave,  transepts  of  the  same  height,  and  side-aisles 
and  chapels,  dim  nooks  of  holiness,  where  in  Cath- 
olic times  the  lamps  were  continually  burning 
before  the  richly  decorated  shrines  of  saints.  In 
the  audacity  of  my  ignorance,  as  I  humbly  ac- 
knowledge it  to  have  been,  I  criticized  this  great 
interior  as  too  much  broken  into  compartments, 

95 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

and  shorD  of  half  its  rightful  impressiveness  by  the 
interposition  of  a  screen  betwixt  the  nave  and 
chancel.  It  did  not  spread  itself  in  breadth,  but 
ascended  to  the  roof  in  lofty  narrowness. 

A  great  deal  of  white  marble  decorates  the  old 
stonework  of  the  aisles,  in  the  shape  of  altars, 
obelisks,  sarcophagi,  and  busts.  Most  of  these 
memorials  are  commemorative  of  people  locally 
distinguished,  especially  the  deans  and  canons  of 
the  cathedral,  with  their  relatives  and  families; 
and  I  found  but  two  monuments  of  personages 
whom  I  had  ever  heard  of — one  being  Gilbert 
Walmesley,  and  the  other  Lady  Mary  Wortley 
Montagu,  a  literary  acquaintance  of  my  boyhood. 
It  was  really  jjleasant  to  meet  her  there;  for  after 
a  friend  has  lain  in  the  grave  far  into  the  second 
century,  she  would  be  unreasonable  to  require  any 
melancholy  emotions  in  a  chance  interview  at  her 
tombstone.  It  adds  a  rich  charm  to  sacred  edifices, 
this  time-honored  custom  of  burial  in  churches, 
after  a  few  years,  at  least,  when  the  mortal  remains 
have  turned  to  dust  beneath  the  pavement,  and  the 
quaint  devices  and  inscriptions  still  speak  to  you 
above.     .     .     . 

A  large  space  in  the  immediate  neighborhood  of 
the  cathedral  is  called  the  Close,  and  comprises 
beautifully  kept  lawns  and  a  shadowy  walk,  bor- 
dered by  the  dwellings  of  the  ecclesiastical  digni- 
taries of  the  diocese.  All  this  row  of  episcopal, 
canonical,  and  clerical  residences  has  an  air  of 
the  deepest  quiet,  repose,  and  well-protected,  tho 
not  inaccessible  seclusion.  They  seemed  capable  of 
including  everything  that  a  saint  could  desire,  and 
a  great  many  more  things  than  most  of  us  sinners 
generally  succeed  in  acquiring.    Their  most  marked 

96 


TliROXE   ROOM^   WINDSOR   CASTLE 


I'DKTS'   rORXKR,   WKSTMIXSTKU   ABBRY 


guy's    tower    and    clock    TOWER^    WARWICK    CASTLE 


WAFJWTCK   CASTLE 


^.2 


<       c3 


CHATSWORTH 
Seat    of    the    Duke    of    Devonshire 


Courtesy   G.    P.   rmnam's   Son 


ALXWICK   CASTLE,    SOUTH   FRONT 
Seat   of   the    Duke    of   Northumberland 


Courtesy   G.    1'.   I'utuam's   Soi 


HOLLAND   HOUSE 


KA^I'OX    MALI; 
Scat    of   tlic    Dtikc  of  Westminster 


CATHEDRALS  AND  ABBEYS 


feature  is  a  dignified  comfort,  looking  as  if  no 
disturbance  or  vulgar  intrusiveness  could  ever 
cross  their  thresholds,  encroach  upon  their  orna- 
mented lawns,  or  straggle  into  the  beautiful  gar- 
dens that  surround  them  with  flower-beds  and  rich 
clumps  of  shrubber>\  The  episcopal  palace  is  a 
stately  mansion  of  stone,  built  somewhat  in  the 
Italian  style,  and  bearing  on  its  front  the  figures 
of  1687,  as  the  date  of  its  erection.  A  large  edifice 
of  brick,  which,  if  I  remember,  stood  next  to  the 
palace,  I  took  to  be  the  residence  of  the  second 
dignitary  of  the  cathedral ;  and  in  that  case  it  must 
have  been  the  youthful  home  of  Addison,  whose 
father  was  Dean  of  Lichfield.  I  tried  to  fancy 
his  figure  on  the  delightful  walk  that  extends  in 
front  of  those  priestly  abodes,  from  which  and 
the  interior  lawns  it  is  separated  by  an  open-work 
iron  fence,  lined  with  rich  old  shrubbery,  and 
overarched  by  a  minster-aisle  of  venerable  trees. 


WINCHESTER* 

BY  WILLIAM  HOWITT 

On  entering  the  cathedral  enclosure  on  its  north 
side  from  High  Street,  you  are  at  once  struck  with 
the  venerable  majesty  and  antique  beauty  of  the 
fine  old  pile  before  you,  and  ^^dth  the  sacred  qui- 
etude of  the  enclosure  itself.  In  the  heart  of  this 
tranquil  city  it  has  yet  a  deeper  tranquillity  of  its 
own.  Its  numerous  tombs  and  headstones,  scattered 
over  its  greensward,  and  its  lofty  avenues  of  lime- 

*From  "Visits  to  Remarkable  Places." 

1—7  97 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

trees,  seem  to  give  you  a  peaceful  welcome  to  the 
Christian  fame  and  resting-place  of  so  many  gen- 
erations. If  you  enter  at  the  central  passage,  you 
tread  at  once  on  the  eastern  foundations  of  the 
Conqueror's  palace,  and  pass  close  to  the  spot  on 
which  formerly  rose  the  western  towers  of  Alfred's 
Newan  Mynstre,  and  where  lay  his  remains,  after 
having  been  removed  from  the  old  mynstre,  till 
Hyde  Abbey  was  built.  • 

It  is  impossible  to  walk  over  this  ground,  now  so 
peaceful,  without  calling  to  mind  what  scenes  of 
havoc  and  blood,  of  triumph  and  ecclesiastical 
pomp,  it  has  witnessed — the  butchery  of  the 
persecution  of  Diocletian,  when  the  Christians  fell 
here  by  thousands;  the  repeated  massacres  and 
conflagrations  of  the  Danes ;  the  crowning  of  Saxon 
and  of  English  kings;  the  proud  processions  of 
kings  and  queens,  nobles,  mitered  prelates,  friars, 
and  monks,  to  offer  thanksgiving's  for  victory,  or 
penance  for  sins,  from  age  to  age;  and,  finally, 
the  stern  visitation  of  the  Reformers  and  the  Crom- 
wellian  troopers. 

The  venerable  minster  itself  bears  on  its  aspect 
the  testimonies  of  its  own  antiquity.  The  short 
and  ma&sy  tower  in  the  center,  the  work  of  Bishop 
AYalkelin,  the  cousin  of  the  Conqueror,  has  the 
very  look  of  that  distant  age,  and,  to  eyes  accus- 
tomed to  the  lofty  and  rich  towers  of  some  of  our 
cathedrals,  has  an  air  of  meanness.  Many  people 
tell  you  that  it  never  was  finished;  but  besides 
that  there  is  no  more  reason  that  the  tower  should 
remain  unfinished  through  so  many  centuries  than 
any  otlier  part  of  the  building,  we  know  that  it  was 
the  character  of  the  time,  of  which  the  tower  of 
the  Norman  church  of  St.  Cross  affords  another 

98 


CATHEDRALS  AND  ABBEYS 


instance  just  at  hand.  In  fact,  the  spire  was  then 
unknown. 

Having  arrived  at  the  west  front,  we  can  not 
avoid  pausing  to  survey  the  beauty  of  its  work- 
manship— that  of  the  great  William  of  Wyke- 
ham ;  its  great  central  doorwaj^,  with  its  two  smaller 
side-doors;  the  fretted  gallery  over  it,  where  the 
bishop  in  his  pontificals  was  wont  to  stand  and 
bless  the  people,  or  absolve  them  from  the  cen- 
sures of  the  church;  its  noble  window,  rich  with 
perpendicular  tracery;  its  two  slender  lantern  tur- 
rets ;  its  crowning  tabernacle,  with  its  statue  of  the 
builder;  and  its  pinnacled  side  aisles. 

I  must  confess  that  of  all  the  cathedrals  which 
I  have  entered,  none  gave  me  such  a  sensation  of 
surprize  and  pleasure.  The  loftiness,  the  space, 
the  vast  length  of  the  whole  unbroken  roof  above, 
I  believe  not  exceeded  by  any  other  in  England; 
the  two  rows  of  lofty  clustered  pillars ;  the  branch- 
ing aisles,  with  their  again  branching  and  crossing 
tracery ;  the  long  line  of  the  vaulted  roof,  embossed 
with  armorial  escutcheons  and  religious  devices 
of  gorgeous  coloring;  the  richly  painted  windows; 
and,  below,  the  carved  chantries  and  mural  monu- 
ments, seen  amid  the  tempered  light;  and  the 
sober  yet  delicate  hue  of  the  Portland  stone,  with 
which  the  whole  noble  fabric  is  lined,  produce  a 
tout  ensemble  of  sublime  loveliness  which  is  not 
easily  to  be  rivaled.     .     .     . 

But  we  have  made  the  circuit  of  the  church 
without  beholding  the  choir,  and  we  must  not  quit 
its  precincts  without  entering  there.  Ascending 
the  flight  of  steps  which  lead  to  it,  we  front  that 
elegant  screen  with  which  modern  good  taste  has 
replaced  the  screen  of  Inigo  Jones,  who,  blind  to 


99 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

all  the  beauty  of  the  Gothic  architecture,  not  only 
placed  here  a  Grecian  screen,  but  also  affixt  a 
Grecian  bishop's  throne  to  the  beautiful  Gothic 
canopy-work  of  the  choir.  In  the  niches  of  this 
screen  are  two  bronze  statues  of  James  I  and 
Charles  I. 

We  are  now  on  the  spot  of  the  ancient  rood-loft, 
where  formerly  stood  the  great  rood,  or  crucifix, 
with  the  attendant  figures  of  the  Virgin  and  St. 
John,  of  vast  size  and  value,  being  of  silver,  which 
were  bequeathed  to  the  minster  by  the  notorious 
Archbishop  Stigand,  before  the  Conquest.  As  we 
enter  the  choir  through  the  door  in  the  screen,  we 
are  struck  with  the  great  beauty  of  the  place. 
Around  us  rises  the  rich  dark  woodwork  of  the 
stalls,  contrasting  well  with  the  pale  delicacy  of 
the    walls    above. 

Overhead  is  seen  to  swell  the  fine  vault  of 
the  roof,  with  its  rich  tracery,  and  its  central  line, 
and  orbs  at  the  junction  of  its  timbers,  embossed 
with  bold  armorial  shields  of  the  houses  of  Tudor, 
Lancaster,  and  Castile,  as  united  in  John  of  Gaunt 
and  Beaufort,  with  those  of  various  episcopal  sees, 
and  stretching  on  to  the  splendid  east  window  in 
that  direction,  emblazoned  with  "the  several  im- 
plements of  our  Savior's  Passion — the  cross, 
crown  of  thorns,  nails,  hammer,  pillar,  scourges, 
reed,  sponge,  lance,  sword,  with  the  ear  of 
Malchus  upon  it,  lantern,  ladder,  cock,  and  dice; 
also  the  faces  of  Pilate  and  his  wife,  of  the  Jewish 
high  priest,  with  a  great  many  others,  too  numer- 
ous to  be  described,  but  worthy  of  notice  for  the 
ingenuity  of  design,"  and  the  richness  of  their  tints. 
They  are,  indeed,  emblazoned  in  the  most  gorgeous 
colors — scarlet,  blue  and  gold;  and,  to  a  fanciful 

100 


CATHEDRALS  AND  ABBEYS 


eye,  may  resemble,  many  of  them,  huge  sacred 
beetles  of  lordly  shapes  and  hues. 

On  each  side  rise  up,  into  the  very  roof,  the  tall 
pointed  windows  glowing  with  figures  of  saints, 
prophets,  and  apostles,  who  seem  to  be  ranged  on 
either  hand,  in  audience  of  the  divine  persons  in 
the  great  east  window — the  Savior  and  the  Vir- 
gin, with  apostles  and  other  saints.  But  what  is 
the  most  striking  to  the  eye  and  mind  of  the  spec- 
tator is  to  behold,  on  the  floor  of  the  sanctuary 
before  him,  a  plain  beveled,  stone  of  dark  marble — 
the  tomb  of  William  Rufus;  and  arranged  on  the 
top  of  the  beautiful  stone  partitions  on  each  side 
of  the  sanctuary,  dividing  it  from  the  aisles,  are 
six  mortuary  chests,  three  on  a  side,  containing 
the  bones  of  many  of  the  most  eminent  Saxon 
princes.  The  bones  which,  from  the  repeated  re- 
buildings  and  alterings  of  the  cathedral,  must 
have  been  in  danger  of  being  disturbed,  and  the 
places  of  their  burial  rendered  obscure,  or  lost 
altogether.  Bishop  de  Blois,  in  the  twelfth  century, 
collected  and  placed  in  coffins  of  lead  over  the 
Holy  Hole.  At  the  rebuilding  of  the  choir,  as  it 
was  necessary  again  to  remove  them,  Bishop  Fox 
had  them  deposited  in  these  chests,  and  placed  in 
this  situation.  .  The  chests  are  carved,  gilt,  and 
surmounted  with  crowns,  with  the  names  and  epi- 
taphs, in  Latin  verse  and  black  letter,  inscribed 
upon  them. 

But  if  we  had  quitted  Winchester  Cathedral 
without  paying  a  visit  to  the  grave  of  one  of  the 
best  and  most  cheerful-hearted  old  men  who  lie 
in  it,  we  should  have  committed  a  great  fault.  No, 
we  stood  on  the  stone  in  the  floor  of  Prior  Silk- 
stede's  chapel  in  the  old  Norman  south  transept, 


101 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

which  is  inscribed  with  the  name  of  Izaak  Walton. 
There  lies  that  prince  of  fishermen,  who,  when 
Milner  wrote  his  history  of  this  city,  was  so  little 
thought  of  that  he  is  not  once  mentioned  in  the 
whole  huge  quarto! 

WELLS* 

BY    JAMES    M.    HOPPIN 

The  city  of  Wells,  which  we  now  visit,  has  a 
romantic  situation  on  the  southern  slope  of  the 
Mendip  Hills,  twenty  miles  equi-distant  from  Bath, 
Bistol,  and  Bridgewater.  It  takes  its  name  from 
the  ancient  well  dedicated  to  St.  Andrew,  which 
rises  within  the  Episcopal  grounds,  and  runs 
through  the  city  down  the  sides  of  the  principal 
streets  in  clear,  sparkling  streams. 

There  is  no  place  which,  taken  altogether,  pre- 
serves a  more  antique  air  of  tranquil  seclusion 
than  Wells.  In  the  precincts  of  Chester  Cathe- 
dral, and  at  many  other  points  in  England,  there 
broods  the  same  antique  calm,  but  here  the  whole 
place  is  pervaded  by  this  reposeful  spirit  of  the 
past;  and  this  culminates  in  the  neighborhood  of 
St.  Andrew's  Cathedral,  the  bishop's  palace,  the 
old  moat,  the  conventual  buildings,  and  the  three 
venerable  gates,  or  "eyes,"  as  they  are  called,  of 
the  cathedral  yard.  The  moat  about  the  bishop's 
palace,  overhung  by  a  thick  curtain  of  aged  elms 
mingled  with  ivy,  growing  like  a  warrior's  crest 
upon  the  high-turreted  interior  walls,  and  reflected 
in  deep  shadows  in  the  smooth,  dark  mirror  of  the 

*From  "Old  England:  Its  Scenery,  Art  and  People." 
Published   by  Houghton,   Mifflin   Co. 

102 


CATHEDRALS  AND  ABBEYS 


water,  has  a  thoroughly  feudal  look,  -which  is 
heightened  by  the  drawbridge  over  the  moat,  and 
the  frowning  castellated  gateway.  How  strange 
the  state  of  society  when  a  Christian  bishop  lived 
in  such  jealously  armed  seclusion,  behind  moated 
walls  and  embattled  towers !  What  a  commentary, 
this  very  name  of  "the  close"!  One  of  these  old 
bishops  was  himself  a  famous  fighting  character, 
who,  at  the  age  of  sixty-four,  commanded  the 
king's  artillery  at  the  battle  of  SedgTQoor.  .  .  . 
The  Cathedral  of  St.  Andrew  was  built  upon  the 
site  of  a  still  more  ancient  church  founded  by  Ina, 
king  of  the  West  Saxons  in  704.  It  also  goes 
back  to  a  remote  antiquity,  for  its  choir  and  nave 
were  rebuilt  in  the  middle  of  the  twelfth  century. 
The  central  tower,  which  is  the  noblest  and  most 
finished  part  of  the  structure,  is  of  the  early 
English  style  to  the  roof;  the  upper  part  is  of 
the  Decorated,  with  a  mixture  of  the  early  Per- 
pendicular styles.  It  has  an  elegant  appearance 
from  its  rich  pinnacles,  and  is  of  a  softened  and 
gray  tint.  Beginning  to  show  signs  of  sinking, 
it  was  raised  in  the  fourteenth  century,  and  was 
strengthened  by  the  introduction  beneath  it  of 
inverted  buttressing  arches,  which  give  to  the 
interior  a  strange  effect.  These  arches,  archi- 
tecturally considered,  are  undoubtedly  blemishes, 
but  they  are  on  such  a  vast  scale,  and  so  bold  in 
their  forms,  and  yet  so  simple,  that  they  do  not 
take  away  from  the  plain  grandeur  of  the  interior. 
They  are  quite  Oriental  or  Saracenic.  The  top 
of  the  eastern  window  is  seen  bright  and  glowing 
over  the  lower  part  of  the  upper  arch.  The  west 
front,  235  feet  in  length,  has  two  square  towers, 
with  a  central  screen  terminated  by  minarets,  and 


103 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

is  divided  into  distinct  compartments  of  eight  pro- 
jecting buttresses;  all  of  these  projections  and 
recessed  parts  are  covered  with  rich  sculpture  and 
statuary,  of  which  there  are  153  figures  of  life- 
size,   and  more  than  450   smaller  figures.     .     .     . 

The  other  most  striking  features  of  Wells  Cathe- 
dral are  the  Chapter  House  and  the  Ladye  Chapel. 
The  first  of  these,  on  the  rear  of  the  church,  is  an 
otagonal  structure  w^ith  pinnacled  buttresses  at  each 
angle.  It  is  approached  from  the  interior  by  a  worn 
staircase  of  20  steps  of  noble  architectural  design. 
Among  the  grotesque  carvings  that  line  the  stair- 
case, I  remember  in  particular  one  queer  old  figure 
with  a  staff,  or  rather  crutch,  thrust  in  a  dragon's 
mouth,  supporting  a  column.  While  thus  holding 
up  the  cathedral  with  its  head  and  hand  above, 
and  choking  a  writhing  dragon  beneath,  he  looks 
smiling  and  unconcerned,  as  if  it  were  an  every- 
day affair  -vN^th  him,  as  indeed  it  is.  The  whole 
church  abounds  in  these  old  sculptures,  little 
demoniac  figures  with  big  heads,  faces  with  enor- 
mous fish  mouths,  old  men  with  packs  on  their 
backs,  and  angels  with  huge  armfuls  of  flowers. 
They  seem  to  let  one  into  the  interior  chambers  of 
fancy,  the  imaginative  workings  of  the  human 
mind  in  the  middle  ages.  .    .    . 

Wells  Cathedral,  on  the  whole,  is  distinguished 
for  a  dignified  but  rich  simplicity,  arising  from  its 
plain  large  surfaces,  mingled  and  edged  here  and 
there  with  fine-cut  and  elegant  ornamentation. 
The  court  and  buildings  of  the  Wells  Theological 
College  have  a  thoroughly  quaint,  old-fashioned 
look,  quiet,  rigid,  and  medieval;  as  if  the  students 
reared  there  could  not  but  be  Churchmen  of  the 
"Brother    Ignatius"   stamp,    gentlemen,    scholars, 

104 


CATHEDRALS  AND  ABBEYS 


and — priests.  I  can  not  leave  Wells  without  speak- 
ing of  the  two  splendid  "cedars  of  Lebanon" 
standing  in  the  environs  of  the  church.  They  are 
not  very  tall,  but  they  sweep  the  ground  majes- 
tically, and  grow  in  a  series  of  broad,  heavy  masses 
of  foliage,  gracefully  undulating  in  their  outline. 


BURY  ST.  EDMUNDS* 

BY  H.  CLAIBORNE  DIXON 

The  history  of  the  Abbey  of  Bury  St.  Edmunds, 
altho  veiled  in  much  legendary  and  mythical  lore, 
tells,  nevertheless,  in  its  actual  history  of  the  prog- 
ress of  civilization  and  of  the  enlightenment  of 
the  human  mind.  Sigberct,  King  of  the  East 
Angles,  is  said  to  have  founded  the  first  monastery 
at  Beoderiesworth  (a  town  known  to  the  Romans, 
ancient  Britains,  Saxons,  and  Danes),  and  to  have 
subsequently  laid  aside  his  royal  dignity  by  join- 
ing the  brotherhood  which  he  had  established. 
Following  his  example  of  religious  devotion,  Ed- 
mund, last  King  of  the  Angles,  sacrificed  not  only 
his  crown  but  his  life  in  defense  of  the  Christian 
faith,  for  he  was  beheaded  by  the  Danes  at  Egles- 
dene  in  870.     .     .     . 

His  head  was  cast  into  a  forest,  and,  as  the 
story  goes,  was  miraculously  discovered  and  found 
to  be  guarded  by  a  wolf.  It  was  then  buried  with 
the  body  at  the  village  of  Hoxne,  where  it  re- 
mained until  903.  In  this  year,  "the  precious,  un- 
defiled,  uncorrupted  body  of  the  glorious  king  and 
martyr''  was  translated  to  the  care  of  the  secular 
•From  "The  Abbeys  of  Great  Britain." 
105 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

priests  at  Beoderiesworth,  since  when  the  town  has 
been  called  St.  Edmundsbury,  in  memory  of  the 
sainted  monarch.  Other  wonderful  traditions  are 
associated  with  the  shrine  of  St.  Edmund.  Sweyn, 
the  violent  Danish  king,  coming  in  hot  pursuit  of 
a  woman  who  had  claimed  sanctuaiy,  was  miracu- 
lously killed  by  an  imaginary  spear  which  came  out 
of  the  shrine  when  he  was  about  to  seize  the  woman 
who  was  clinging  to  its  side.  Bishop  Herfastus, 
too,  was  struck  blind,  when  on  a  visit  to  the  abbot, 
in  the  attempt  to  establish  his  new  see  in  the 
monastical  demesne,  and  afterward  miraculously 
healed.  For  centuries  the  highest  in  the  land 
brought  sfifts  and  laid  them  before  the  venerated 
shrine. 

Canute  was  the  actual  founder  of  the  monas- 
tery proper,  for  in  the  eleventh  century  he  brought 
over  Benedictine  monks  from  Hulm,  granting  them 
a  charter  and  many  benefactions.  The  monastery 
yearly  became  more  prosperous,  and,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  Glastonbury,  exceeded  in  magnificence 
and  privileges  all  other  ecclestiastical  establisli- 
ments  in  the  country.  In  the  height  of  its  glory  it 
must  have  been  a  most  beautiful  and  dignitied 
structure.    Leland  writes: 

"A  monastery  more  noble,  whether  one  considers 
the  endowments,  largeness,  or  unparalleled  mag- 
nificence, the  sun  never  saw.  One  might  think  the 
monastery  alone  a  city:  it  has  three  grand  gates 
for  entrances,  some  whereof  are  brass,  many  towers, 
high  walls,  and  a  church  than  which  nothing  can 
be  more  magnificent." 

The  immense  minster,  with  its  lofty  western  and 
106 


CATHEDRALS  AND  ABBEYS 


central  towers,  rose  above  the  monastic  building's, 
which  were  enclosed  by  a  wall.  To  the  north  was 
a  great  cloister,  with  the  various  conventual  of- 
fices, to  the  southwest  lay  the  cemetery  and  church 
of  St.  Mary,  while  immediately  before  the  west  front 
of  the  church  stood  the  Norman  tower  leading  to 
St.  James's  Church. 

Sufficient  is  left  of  the  reverend  walls  to  convey 
some  idea  of  the  former  vastness  of  the  abbey  and 
its  attendant  buildings.  Of  the  minster  itself  little 
remains — some  arches  of  the  west  front,  now  con- 
verted into  private  houses,  and  the  bases  of  the 
piers  which  supported  the  central  tower.  The 
site  of  St.  Edmunds'  Chapel — the  part  of  the  build- 
ing which  contained  the  famous  and  much-visited 
shrine — is  at  the  east  end  of  the  church.  Besides 
these  relics  of  the  minster,  there  still  exists  the 
Norman  tower — built  during  the  time  of  Abbot 
Anselm,  and  formerly  known  as  the  principal  en- 
trance to  the  cemetery  of  St.  Edmund,  and  latterly 
as  the  "Churchgate"  and  bell  tower  of  St.  James's 
Church — the  abbot's  bridge  (Decorated)  of  three 
arches;  portions  of  the  walls,  and  the  abbey  gate- 
way.    .     .     . 

First  among  the  abbots  of  Bury  stands  the  name 
of  Samson,  "the  wolf  who  raged  among  the  monks." 
Many  of  the  brothers  had  become  entangled  with 
Jewish  money-lenders  in  the  twelfth  century/,  and 
Abbot  Samson,  while  protecting  the  Jews  at  the 
time  of  the  massacre,  discharged  all  the  debts  of  his 
house,  established  many  new  rules,  and  set  a 
godly  and  strenuous  example  to  his  followers. 
Later,  in  1205,  the  chief  barons  met  at  Bury  in 
opposition  to  King  John,  and  swore  at  the  second 
meeting,  four  years  later,  in  the  presence  of  the 

107 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

king  and  Archbishop  Langton,  to  stand  by  their 
cause  till  the  king  should  be  induced  to  sign  the 
Great  Charter,  and  to  establish  those  liberties  which 
we  still  enjoy. 


GLASTONBURY* 

BY  H.  CLAIBORNE  DIXON 

Tho  once  surrounded  by  fenland,  the  Abbey  of 
Glastonbury — a  veritable  treasure-house  of  legend- 
ary lore — stands  now  amid  orchards  and  level  pas- 
ture lands  engirt  by  the  river  Bure.  The  majestic 
Tor  overshadows  this  spot,  where,  undoubtedly,  the 
first  British  Christian  settlement  was  established. 
The  name  of  the  new  builder  of  the  first  early 
church  can  never  be  ascertained,  so  that  in  want  of 
more  substantial  evidence  the  old  legend  of  St. 
Joseph  of  Arimathasa  must  be  accepted,  however 
slight  its  claims  to  historical  authority.  Certain 
it  is  that  Christianity  was  introduced  into  this  land 
on  the  island  of  Yniswj^tryn,  or  "Isle  of  Glass" 
(so  called  on  account  of  its  ci*ystal  streams),  in  the 
very  early  centuries. 

According  to  the  Arthurian  legends,  St.  Philip, 
Lazarus,  Martha,  Mary  and  Joseph  of  Arimathasa, 
having  been  banished  by  their  countrymen,  jour- 
neyed to  Marseilles,  from  whence  Joseph,  with 
twelve  companions  and  holy  women,  Avas  sent  by 
St.  Philip  to  Britain.  They  landed  on  the  south- 
west coast  and  made  their  way  to  Glastonbury, 
then  Avalon  (and  so  named  in  allusion  to  its  apple 
orchards),  and  by  means  of  preaching  and  many 

•From  "The  Abbeys  of  Great  Britain," 

108 


CATHEDRALS  AND  ABBEYS 


miraculous  deeds  persuaded  the  people  to  adopt 
Christianity.  Gaining  the  good  will  of  King  Arvi- 
ragus,  they  built  a  church  of  wattle  and  twigs  on 
the  ground  given  to  them  by  their  royal  patron. 
The  Benedictine,  with  its  later  developments  in 
Norman  times  of  Augustine  and  Cluniac  orders, 
was  the  first  religious  order  introduced  into  this 
country.  It  was  instituted  in  Italy  early  in  the 
sixth  century  by  St.  Benedict  of  Nursia.  Many 
monasteries  established  before  the  Conquest  came 
under  its  sway,  and  were,  centuries  later,  after  the 
Dissolution,  converted  into  cathedral  churches. 

A  sharp  distinction  should  be  drawn  between 
the  monasteries  established  previous  to  the  Con- 
quest and  those  subsequently  founded  by  the  Cis- 
tercian and  other  orders.  The  former  were  national 
houses — in  every  way  belonging  to  the  English 
people  and  untouched  by  Papal  influence;  while 
the  latter,  which  were  under  the  immediate  control 
of  the  Bishop  of  Rome,  were  essentially  of  foreign 
foundation.     .     .     . 

King  Ina,  persuaded  by  St.  Aldhelm,  rebuilt  and 
reendowed  the  abbey  in  the  eighth  century,  re- 
nounced his  royal  state,  and  lived  as  an  ordinary 
civilian,  being  induced  to  do  so  by  extraordinary 
devices  on  the  part  of  his  wife  Ethelburgh.  On 
one  occasion,  after  King  Ina  had  given  a  great  feast 
to  his  barons,  he  and  his  queen  left  the  castle  and 
proceeded  to  another  of  the  royal  residences.  Be- 
fore leaving,  Ethelburgh  had  commanded  the 
servants  to  strip  the  castle  of  all  its  valuables, 
furniture,  etc.,  and  to  fill  it  with  rubbish,  and  to 
put  a  litter  of  pigs  in  the  king's  bed.  A  short  dis- 
tance on  their  journey,  Ethelburgh  persuaded  the 
king  to  return,  and,  showing  him  over  the  dese- 

109 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

crated  palace,  exhorted  him  to  consider  the  utter 
■worthlessness  of  all  earthly  splendor  and  the  ad- 
visability of  joining  her  on  a  pilgrimage  to  Rome. 
Imprest  by  her  words,  Ina  acted  as  she  advised, 
and  later  endowed  a  school  in  Rome  in  which 
Anglo-Saxon  children  might  become  acquainted 
with  the  customs  of  foreign  countries.  Ina  and 
Ethelburgh  spent  the  remainder  of  their  days  in 
privacy  in  the  Holy  City. 

The  famous  Dunstan,  one  of  the  greatest  of 
ecclesiastical  statesmen,  was  bom  in  Glastonbury, 
and,  after  proving  his  many  marvelous  capabilities 
and  aptitude  for  learning,  was  made  abbot  of  the 
Benedictine  house  in  his  native  town  in  the  reign  of 
Edmund  the  Magnificent.  Many  strange  stories 
are  told  of  him — the  most  fantastic,  perhaps,  being 
that  of  his  interview  with  the  natural  enemy  of 
man,  the  Devil  himself,  during  which  the  reverend 
Iran  became  either  so  irritated  or  terrified  that  he 
was  provoked  to  seize  the  nose  of  his  ghostly  vis- 
itor with  a  pair  of  red-hot  pincers.     .     .     . 

The  fame  belonging  to  this  noble  foundation  ex- 
ceeded that  of  any  other  great  building  in  England. 
An  old  writer  tells  us,  "Kings  and  queens,  not  only 
of  the  West  Saxons,  but  of  other  kingdoms;  sev- 
eral archbishops  and  bishops;  many  dukes;  and  the 
nobility  of  both  sexes  thought  themselves  happy  in 
increasing  the  revenues  of  this  venerable  house, 
to  ensure  themselves  a  place  of  burial  therein."  The 
story  of  the  burial  of  St.  Joseph  of  Arimathaea 
at  Glastonbury,  to  us  a  mere  shadowy  legend,  was 
accepted  as  a  fact  in  the  early  English  ages,  and 
that  it  figured  in  the  mind  of  these  worthies  as 
endowing  Glastonbury  with  extraordinary  sanctity 
is  beyond  doubt. 

110 


CATHEDRALS  AND  ABBEYS 


At  the  time  of  the  Dissolution  no  corruption 
whatever  was  revealed  at  Glastonbury,  nor  any 
blame  recorded  against  its  management.  It  was 
still  doing  splendid  work,  having  daily  services 
and  extending  its  educational  influence  for  miles 
around.  There  was  but  scanty  comfort  for  its  in- 
mates, who  rested  on  a  straw  mattress  and  bolster 
on  their  narrow  bedstead  in  a  bare  cell,  and  whose 
food,  duties  and  discipline  were  marked  by  an 
austere  simplicity.  Nor  were  they  idle,  these 
monks  of  Glastonbury — some  taught  in  the  abbey 
school,  others  toiled  in  the  orchards,  and  the  beauty 
of  the  stained  glass,  designed  within  the  abbey 
walls,  found  fame  far  and  wide. 

Richard  Whiting  was  Abbot  of  Glastonbury 
when,  in  1539,  Henry  VIII.  ordered  inquiries  to 
be  made  into  the  condition  and  property  of  the 
abbey.  Altho  he  recognized  the  monarch  as  su- 
preme head  of  the  church,  he  respected  the  Glas- 
tonbury traditions  and  met  the  "visitors"  in  a  spirit 
of  passive  resistance.  With  the  object  of  preserv- 
ing them  from  desecration,  the  abbot  had  con- 
cealed some  of  the  communion  vessels,  and  for  this 
offense  the  venerable  man  was  tried  and  condemned 
to  death.  His  head,  white  with  the  touch  of  eighty 
years,  was  fixt  upon  the  abbej^  gate,  and  the  rest 
of  his  body  quartered  and  sent  to  Bath,  WeUs, 
Bridgwater,  and  Ilchester.  The  abbey  building — 
one  of  the  most  perfect  examples  of  architecture  in 
the  land — served  as  a  stone  quarry,  much  of  the 
material  being  used  to  make  a  road  over  the  fen- 
land  from  Glastonbury  to  Wells.  The  revenue  at 
the  time  of  the  Dissolution  was  over  £3,000,  a  big 
income  in  those  days. 


Ill 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 


TINTERN* 

BY  H.  CLAIBORNE  DIXON 

More  than  one  great  artist  has  immortalized 
the  secluded  vale,  where,  on  a  bend  of  the  Wye 
and  surrounded  by  wooded  hills,  the  ruins  of  Tin- 
tern  Abbey  stand.  The  somber-looking  heights, 
which  close  in  to  the  east  and  west,  create  the 
atmosphere  of  loneliness  and  separation  from  the 
world  so  sought  after  by  the  Cistercian  monks, 
who  doubtless  found  inspiration  in  the  grandeur 
of  the  surrounding  mountains  and  in  the  peaceful- 
ness  of  the  sweet  valley  below.  Tho  the  church 
of  the  Early  English  abbey  is  roofless  and  the 
central  tower  gone,  the  noble  structure,  with  its 
many  graceful  arches,  seems  to  attest  to  the  spirit 
of  religious  fervor  and  devotion  so  intimately 
associated  with  the  history  of  its  gray  and  lichen- 
covered  walls. 

The  finest  part  of  the  rains  is  undoubtedly  the 
church,  which,  with  the  exception  of  the  roof  and 
the  north  piers  of  the  nave,  still  stands  complete. 
It  has  a  nave  of  six  bays  with  aisles,  a  choir  of 
four  bays  with  aisles,  ihe  transepts  with  eastern 
aisles  having  two  chapels.  A  transverse  Galilee 
stood  formerly  beyond  the  western  entrance.  In 
the  north  transept  are  remains  of  the  dormitory 
stairs,  and  on  this  side  the  cloisters,  too,  were 
situated.  The  aumbry,  parlor,  sacristy,  chapter- 
house, slype  to  the  infirmary,  day-stairs  to  dor- 
mitory and  undercroft  were  on  the  east  side  of 
the  cloisters ;  the  postern  and  river  gate,  over  which 

•From  "The  Abbeys  of  Great  Britain." 

112 


CATHEDRALS  AND  ABBEYS 


was  the  abbot's  lodge  on  the  north  side,  and  also 
the  buttery,  refectory,  and  kitchen.  The  delicacy 
of  design  and  execution  to  be  seen  in  the  ruins  is 
unrivaled  in  the  kingdom — the  tracery  of  the  win- 
dows being  particularly  fine.  The  ruined  church 
possesses  the  grace  and  lightness  of  architecture 
peculiar  to  the  twelfth  century,  and  is,  even  in  its 
decay,  of  truly  sublime  and  grand  proportions. 
Time  has  been  unable  to  obliterate  the  skilful  work 
of  our  forefathers,  for  the  Early  English  transi- 
tion arches,  the  delicate  molding,  and  the  exquisite 
stone  tracery  in  the  windows  still  delight  the  eye. 
The  history  of  Tintern  is  almost  a  hidden  page 
in  the  chronicles  of  time.  On  the  surrender  of 
Raglan  Castle  to  the  Cromwellian  troops  by  the 
Marquis  of  Worcester,  the  castle  was  razed  to 
the  gTound,  and  with  it  were  lost  the  abbey  records, 
which  had  been  taken  from  Tintern  when  the 
abbey  was  granted  to  the  Marquis's  ancestor  by 
Henry  VIII.  It  is  known,  however,  that  the  first 
foundation  on  the  site  was  in  the  hands  of  a  cousin 
of  William  the  Conqueror,  Richard  Bienfaite  by 
name.  He  founded  the  abbey  in  1131,  and  was 
succeeded  by  his  nephew,  Gilbert  "Strongbow." 
His  gTanddaughter  Isabel  manied  the  then  Earl 
of  Pembroke,  and  her  daughter,  marrying  Hugh 
Bigod,  brought  the  estates  to  the  ducal  house  of 
Norfolk. 


1—8  113 


Ill 

CASTLES  AND  STATELY 
HOMES 

LIVING  IN   GREAT   HOUSES* 

BY  RICHAED  GRANT  WHITE 

Now  I  will  tell  you  a  little — it  can  be  but  a  little 
— about  life  in  tlie  "great  houses,"  as  they  are 
called  here.  When  you  are  asked  to  come  to  one, 
a  train  is  suggested,  and  you  are  told  that  a  car- 
riage will  be  at  the  station  to  meet  you.  Some- 
how the  footman  manages  to  find  you  out.    At , 

which  is  a  little  station  at  which  few  people  get  out, 
I  had  hardly  left  the  train  when  a  very  respectable- 
looking   person,   not  a  footman,   stept   up   to  me 

and   said,   "Lord   's   carriage   is   waiting   for 

you,  sir."  The  carriage  and  the  footman  and  coach- 
man  were,   of  course,   on   the   otlier  side   of  the 

building.    My  drive  from  the  station  to  took 

quite  as  long  a  time  as  it  took  me  to  come  down 
by  rail  from  London,  altho  we  went  at  a  grand 
trot.  The  country  was  beautiful,  stretching  off  on 
both  sides  in  broad  fields  and  meadows,  darkened 
in  lines  by  hedges,  and  in  spots  by  clumps  of  trees. 
The  roads  were  very  narrow — they  seemed  rather 
like  lanes — and  this  effect  was  increased  by  the 
high  walls  and  hedges  on  either  side.     Two  car- 

•From  "England  Wltliout  and  Within."  By  arrange- 
ment with,  and  by  permission  of,  the  publishers, 
Houghton,  Miffiin  Co.     Copyright,  1881. 

114 


CASTLES  AND  STATELY  HOMES 

riages  had  hardly  room  to  pass  in  some  places,  with 

careful  driving.    Being  in  Lord ^s  well-known 

carriage,  I  was  quite  in  state,  and  the  country 
folk,  most  of  them,  bowed  to  me  as  I  went  on ;  and 
of  course  I  followed  the  apostolic  injunction,  and 
condescended  unto  men  of  low  estate. 

And,  by  the  way,  yesterday  afternoon  (for  a  day 
has  passed  since  I   began  this  letter,  and  I  am 

now  at  )  Lady  drove  me  through  their 

park  and  off  to  ,  the  dowager  Lady  's 

jointure  house,  and  I  had  the  honor  of  acknowledg- 
ing for  her  all  the  numerous  bobs  and  ducks  she 
received  from  the  tenants  and  their  children.  So, 
you  see,  I  shall  be  in  good  training  when  I  come 
into  my  estate.     When  and  where  I  entered  the 

park,  either  here  or  at  ,  I  could  not  exactly 

make  out.  There  were  gates  and  gates,  and  the 
private  grounds  seemed  to  shade  off  gradually  into 
the  public.     I  know  that  the  park  extended  far 

beyond  the  lodge.    The  house  at is  very  ugly. 

It  was  built  by  Inigo  Jones,  and,  never  handsome, 
was  altogether  spoiled  by  tasteless  alterations  in 
the  last  century.  The  ugliness  of  English  country 
houses  built  at  that  time  is  quite  inexpressible. 

I   ought   to   have   said   that   the   s   are   in 

mourning;  .  .  .  and  it  was  very  kind  of  them 
to  invite  me.  I  was  met  at  the  door  by  a  dignified 
personage  in  black,  who  asked  me  if  I  would  go 

up  to  Lady 's  room.    She  welcomed  me  warmly, 

said  that  Lord had  been  called  away  for  a  few 

hours,  and  offered  me  tea  from  a  tiny  table  at  her 
side.  And,  by  the  way,  you  are  usually  asked  to 
come  at  a  time  which  brings  you  to  five-o'clock  tea. 
This  gives  you  an  opportunity  to  rub  off  the  rough 
edge  of  strangeness,  before  you  dress  for  dinner. 

115 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

Lady  's  own  room  was  large  and  hung  with 

tapestry,  and  yet  it  was  cosy  and  homelike.  The 
hall  is  large  and  square,  and  the  walls  are  covered 
with  old  arms.     The  staircase  is  good,  but  not  so 

grand  as  others  that  I  have  seen ;  that  at ,  for 

instance,  where  there  was  an  oriel  window  on  the 
first  landing.  This  one  has  no  landing;  it  is  of 
polished  oak,  but  is  carpeted. 

Lady   is    a    very    attractive    and    elegant 

woman,  sensible,  sensitive,  and  with  a  soft,  gentle 
way  of  speech  and  action,  which  is  all  the  more 
charming,  as  she  is  tall.  Her  tea  was  good.  She 
talked  well,  and  we  got  on  together  very  satis- 
factorily. Presently  a  nurse  brought  in  her  two 
little  daughters.  I  thought  she  must  have  approved 
of  her  savage  Yankee  guest;  for  she  encouraged 
them  to  come  to  me  and  sit  upon  my  knees;  and 
all  mothers  are  shy  about  that.     Soon  in  popped 

Lord ,  and  gave  me  the  heartiest  welcome  that 

I  have  received  since  I  have  been  in  England.  He 
has  altered  somewhat  since  he  was  in  New  York; 
is  grown  a  little  stouter,  and  a  very  little  graver, 
but  is  just  the  same  frank,  simple  fellow  as 
when  you  saw  him.  About  seven  o'clock  I  was 
asked  if  I  would  like  to  go  up  to  my  room.  He 
went  with  me, — an  attention  which  I  found  general ; 
and  "directly  he  had  left  me,"  according  to  the 
phrase  here,  a  very  fine-mannered  person,  in  a 
dress  coat  and  a  white  tie,  appeared,  and  asked 
me  for  my  keys. 

I  apprehended  the  situation  at  once,  and  sub- 
mitted to  his  ministrations.  He  did  evei-ything 
for  me  except  actually  to  wash  my  face  and  hands 
and  put  on  my  clothes.  He  laid  everything  that 
I  could  need,  opened  and  laid  out  my  dressing-case, 

116 


CASTLES  AND  STATELY  HOMES 

and    actually    turned    my    stocking-s.      Dinner    at 

eight.    I  take  in  Lady .    Butler,  a  very  solemn 

personag-e,  but  not  stout  nor  red-faced.  I  have 
seen  no  stout,  red-faced  butler  since  I  have  been 
in  England.  Dining  room  large  and  handsome. 
Some  good  portraits.  Gas  in  globes  at  the  walls; 
candles  on  the  table.  Dinner  very  good,  of  course. 
Menu  written  in  pencil  on  a  porcelain  card,  with 
the  formula  in  gilt  and  a  coronet.  Indeed,  the 
very  cans  that  came  up  to  my  bedroom  with  hot 
water  were  marked  with  coronet  and  cipher.  I 
was  inclined  to  scoff  at  this,  at  first,  as  ostentatious ; 
but  after  all,  as  the  things  were  to  be  marked,  how 
could  it  be  done  better? 

After  dinner,  a  very  pleasant  chat  in  the  draw- 
ing-room  until   about   eleven   o'clock,   when   Lord 

sent  Lady to  bed.    She  shakes  hands  on 

bidding-  me  good-night,  and  asks  if  half-past  nine 
o'clock  is  too  early  for  breakfast  for  me.  I  was 
tempted  to  say  that  it  was,  and  to  ask  if  it  couldn't 
be  postponed  till  ten;  but  I  didn't.  The  drawing- 
room,  by  the  way,  altho  it  was  handsome  and  cheer- 
ful, was  far  inferior  in  its  show  to  a  thousand  that 
might  be  found  in  New  York,  many  of  which,  too, 
are  quite  equal  to  it  in  comfort  and  in  tasteful 

adornment.     Lord  and  I  sit  up  awhile  and 

chat  about  old  times  and  the  shooting  on  Long 
Island,  and  when  I  go  to  my  room  I  find  that, 
altho  I  am  to  stay  but  two  days,  my  trunk  has 
been  unpacked  and  all  my  clothes  put  into  the 
w^ardrobe  and  the  drawers,  and  most  carefully 
arranged,  as  if  I  were  going  to  stay  a  month.  My 
morning  dress  has  been  taken  away. 

In  the  morning  the  same  servant  comes,  opens 
my  window,  draws  my  bed  curtain,  prepares  my 

117 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

bath,  turns  my  stockings,  and  in  fact  does  every- 
thing but  actually  bathe  and  dress  me,  and  all 
with  a  very  pleasant  and  cheerful  attentiveness.  At 
a  quarter  past  nine  the  gong  rings  for  prayers. 
These  are  generally  read  by  the  master  of  the 
household  in  the  dining-room,  with  the  breakfast 
table  laid;  but  here  in  a  morning-room.  After 
breakfast  you  are  left  vei^  much  to  yourself.  Busi- 
ness and  household  affairs  are  looked  after  by  your 
host  and  hostess ;  and  you  go  where  you  please  and 
do  what  you  like. 

On  Sunday  I  of  course  went  to  church  with  the 
family:  a  charming  old  church;  tower  of  the  time 
of  Edward  III.;  some  fine  old  monuments.  We 
merely  walked  through  the  park  a  distance  of 
about  the  width  of  Washington  Square,  passed 
through  a  little  door  in  the  park  wall,  and  there  was 
the  church  just  opposite.  It  was  Har\^est  Thanks- 
giving day,  a  festival  recently  introduced  in  Eng- 
land, in  imitation  of  that  which  has  come  down 
to  us  from  our  Puritan  forefathers.  There  was 
a  special  service;  and  the  church  was  very  prettily 
drest  with  oats,  flowers,  grass,  and  grapes,  the 
last  being  substituted  for  hops,  as  it  was  too 
late  for  them.  The  offerings  were  for  the  Bulga- 
rians; for  everything  now  in  England  is  tinged 
with  the  hue  of  "Turkish  horrors." 

After  service  Lord took  me  to  the  chantry, 

where  the  tombs   of  the  family  are.     It  was  to 

show  me  a  famous  statue,  that  of  a  Lady and 

her  baby,  at  the  birth  of  which  she  died,  it  dying 
soon,  too.  The  statue  is  very  beautiful,  and  is 
the  most  purely  and  sweetly  pathetic  work  in 
sculpture  that  I  ever  saw.  It  had  a  special  in- 
terest for  me  because  I  remembered  reading  about 

118 


CASTLES  AMD  STATELY  HOMES 

it  in  my  boyhood;  but  I  had  forgotten  the  name 
of  the  subject,  and  I  had  no  thought  of  finding 
it  here  in  a  little  country  church. 


WINDSOR* 

BY  HARRIET  BEECHEE   STOWE 

About  eleven  o^clock  we  found  ourselves  going 
up  the  old  stone  steps  to  the  castle.  It  was  the 
last  day  of  a  fair  which  had  been  holden  in  this 
part  of  the  country,  and  crowds  of  the  common 
people  were  flocking  to  the  castle,  men,  women, 
and  children  pattering  up  the  stairs  before  and 
after  us. 

We  went  first  through  the  state  apartments.  The 
principal  thing  that  interested  me  was  the  ball 
room,  which  was  a  perfect  gallery  of  Vandyke's 
paiatings.  Here  was  certainly  an  opportunity  to 
know  what  Vandyke  is.  I  should  call  him  a  true 
court  painter — a  master  of  splendid  convention- 
alities, whose  portraits  of  kings  are  the  most 
powerful  arguments  for  the  divine  right  I  know  of. 

The  queen's  audience  chamber  is  hung  with 
tapestry  representing  scenes  from  the  book  of 
Esther.  This  tapestry  made  a  very  great  impres- 
sion upon  me.  A  knowledge  of  the  difficulties  to 
be  overcome  in  the  material  part  of  painting  is 
undoubtedly  an  unsuspected  element  of  much  of 
the  pleasure  we  derive  from  it;  and  for  this 
reason,  probably,  this  tapestry  appeared  to  us 
better  than  paintings  executed  with  equal  spirit 
in  oils.    We  admired  it  exceedingly,  entirely  care- 

*From  "Sunny  Memories  of  Foreign  Lands." 

119 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

less  what  critics  might  think  of  us  if  they  knew 
it.   ...    . 

From  the  state  rooms  we  were  taken  to  the  top 
of  the  Round  Tower,  where  we  gained  a  magnifi- 
cent view  of  the  Park  of  Windsor,  with  its  regal 
avenue,  miles  in  length,  of  ancient  oaks;  its 
sweeps  of  greensward;  clumps  of  trees;  its  old 
Heme  oak,  of  classic  memory;  in  short,  all  that 
constitutes  the  idea  of  a  perfect  English  land- 
scape. The  English  tree  is  shorter  and  stouter 
than  ours;  its  foliage  dense  and  deep,  lying  with 
a  full,  rounding  outline  against  the  sky.  Every- 
thing here  conveys  the  idea  of  concentrated  vitality, 
but  without  that  rank  luxuriance  seen  in  our  Ameri- 
can gi'owth.  Having  unfortunately  exhausted  the 
English  language  on  the  subject  of  grass,  I  will 
not  repeat  any  ecstasies  upon  that  topic. 

After  descending  from  the  tower  we  filed  off 
to  the  proper  quarter,  to  show  our  orders  for  the 
private  rooms.  The  state  apartments,  which  we 
had  been  looking  at,  are  open  at  all  times,  but  the 
private  apartments  can  only  be  seen  in  the  queen's 
absence,  and  by  special  permission,  which  had 
been  procured  for  us  on  this  occasion  by  the  kind- 
ness of  the  Duchess  of  Sutherland. 

One  of  the  first  objects  that  attracted  my  at- 
tention when  entering  the  vestibule  was  a  baby's 
wicker  wagon,  standing  in  one  corner;  it  was 
much  such  a  carriage  as  all  mothers  are  familiar 
with;  such  as  figures  largely  in  the  history  of  al- 
most every  family.  It  had  neat  curtains  and 
cushions  of  green  merino,  and  was  not  royal,  only 
maternal.  I  mused  over  the  little  thing  with  a 
good  deal  of  interest 

In  the  family  breakfast  room  we  saw  some  fine 

120 


CASTLES  AND  STATELY  HOMES 

Gobelin  tapestry,  representing  the  classical  story 
of  Meleager.  In  one  of  the  rooms,  on  a  pedestal, 
stood  a  gigantic  china  vase,  a  present  from  the 
Emperor  of  Russia,  and  in  the  state  rooms  before 
we  had  seen  a  large  malachite  vase  from  the  same 
donor.  The  toning  of  this  room,  with  regard  to 
color,  was  like  that  of  the  room  I  described  in 
Stafford  House — the  carpet  of  green  ground,  with 
the  same  little  leaf  upon  it,  the  walls,  chairs,  and 
sofas  covered  with  green  damask. 

The  whole  air  of  these  rooms  was  veiy  charming, 
suggestive  of  refined  taste  and  domestic  habits. 
The  idea  of  home,  which  pervades  everything 
in  England,  from  the  cottage  to  the  palace,  was  as 
much  suggested  here  as  in  any  apartments  I  have 
seen.  The  walls  of  the  different  rooms  were  decor- 
ated with  portraits  of  the  members  of  the  royal 
family,  and  those  of  other  European  princes. 

After  this  we  went  thro  the  kitchen  department 
— saw  the  silver  and  gold  plate  of  the  table ;  among 
the  latter  were  some  designs  which  I  thought 
particularly  graceful.  To  conclude  all,  we  went 
through  the  stables.  The  men  who  showed  them  told 
us  that  several  of  the  queen's  favorite  horses  were 
taken  to  Osborne;  but  there  were  many  beautiful 
creatures  left,  which  I  regarded  with  great  com- 
placency. The  stables  and  stalls  were  perfectly 
clean,  and  neatly  kept;  and  one,  in  short,  derives 
from  the  whole  \-iew  of  the  economics  of  Windsor 
that  satisfaction  which  results  from  seeing  a  thing 
thoroughly  done  in  the  best  conceivable  manner. 


121 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 
BLENHEIM* 

BY    THE   DUKE    OF    MARLBOROUGH. 

The  arehitectirre  of  the  house  itself  clearly  indi- 
cates the  taste  and  training  of  its  builder.  Van- 
brugh  shared  the  enthusiasm  of  the  day  for  classi- 
cal work,  as  understood  and  developed,  whether 
well  or  ill,  by  the  Italians  of  the  sixteenth  and 
sevepteenth  centuries;  but  with  characteristic  dis- 
regard of  law,  he  thought  to  combine  classical  sever- 
ity with  the  fancifulness  natural  in  a  northerner 
and  a  playwright.  Thus,  while  the  general  scheme 
of  the  south  front,  for  instance,  is  distinctly  severe, 
the  massive  towers  at  its  ends  are  surmounted  by 
fantastic  masses  of  open  stone-work,  most  quaintly 
finished  off  with  arrangements  of  cannon-balls  and 
coronets.  Throughout  he  repeatedly  made  use  of 
classical  members  with  strange  disregard  to  their 
structural  intention.  Silvester,  the  French  artist 
employed  to  make  designs  for  the  decoration  of 
the  sal(  n,  sniffed  contemptuously  at  Vanbrugh's 
Gothic  tendencies.  "I  can  not  approve  of  that 
double  line  of  niches.  It  suggests  the  facade  of  a 
Gothic  church."  And  then  with  savage  delight 
he  announced  his  discovery  that  much  of  the 
design  was  merely  an  unintelligent  imitation  of 
the  Palazzo  Farnese  at  Florence. 

Certainly,  in  spite  of  Vanbrugh's  attempt  to 
achieve  at  once  dignity  and  lightness,  the  probable 
impression  made  by  the  building  on  the  casual  ob- 
server is,  that  it  is  ponderous  without  being  stat»- 

•From  "Famous  Homes  of  Great  Britain  and  Their 
Stories."  A.  H.  Malan,  Editor.  By  arrangement  witla 
tlie  publishers,  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons.     Copyright,  1899. 

122 


CASTLES  AND  STATELY  HOMES 

ly,  and  iiregular  without  being  tastefuL  But  the 
final  feeling  of  any  one  whose  fate  it  is  to  study  it 
at  leisure  will  assuredly  be  one  of  respect,  even  of 
enthusiasm,  for  the  ability  of  Vanbrugh.  It  takes 
time  to  realize  the  boldness  of  the  general  design 
and  the  solidity  of  the  masonry.  In  many  parts 
there  are  about  as  many  feet  of  solid  stone  as  a 
modern  architect  would  put  inches  of  lath  and 
plaster.  The  negative  qualities  of  integrity  and 
thoroughness  are  rare  enough  in  work  of  the  pres- 
ent day,  now  that  the  architect  has  delegated  to  the 
contractor  the  execution  of  his  design. 

The  interior  proportions  of  the  rooms  are  gener- 
ally admirable,  and  so  perfectly  was  the  work 
carried  out  that  it  is  possible  to  look  through  the 
keyholes  of  ten  doors,  and  see  daylight  at  the  end, 
over  three  hundred  feet  oft.  It  is  noticeable,  fur- 
ther, that  the  whole  was  designed  by  a  single  man, 
there  being  no  subsequent  additions,  as  there  are, 
for  instance,  at  Chatsworth  and  Wentworth.  Van- 
brugh is  responsible  for  good  and  bad  qualities 
alike.  One  would  imagine  a  priori  that  he  had 
everything  in  his  favor — unlimited  money  and  a 
free  hand.  Far  from  this  being  the  case,  the 
stupendous  work  was  accomplished  under  difficul- 
ties greater  than  any  long-suffering  architect  ever 
had  to  contend  with. 

The  beginning  of  the  building  was  most  aus- 
picious. In  1705,  the  year  after  Blenheim,  Queen 
Anne,  in  accordance  with  an  address  of  the  Com- 
mons, granted  Marlborough  the  royal  estate  of 
which  Woodstock  was  the  center,  with  moneys  to 
build  a  suitable  house.  The  nation  was  anxious 
to  show  its  gratitude  to  the  General  under  whom 
English   troops   had  won   their   first   considerable 

123 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

victory  on  foreign  soil  since  Agincoiirt;  the  Queen 
was  for  doing  all  in  her  power  for  her  dear  Mrs. 
Freeman;  Marlborough  saw  in  the  scheme  a  dig- 
nified and  legitimate  method  of  perpetuating  his 
fame;  and  so  Vanbrugh  was  commissioned  to 
build  a  house  which  should  be  worthy  of  all  three. 
The  work  was  at  once  begun  on  the  existing  scale. 
Difficulties  sprang  up  when  the  Duchess  began 
to  lose,  by  her  abuse  of  it,  the  power  which  she 
had  always  possessed  over  the  Queen;  when,  too, 
it  was  seen  that  the  architect's  estimate  bore  no 
sort  of  relation  to  the  actual  cost.  Vanbrugh  was 
often  in  the  greatest  straits  for  money,  and  wrote 
piteously  to  the  Duchess  and  the  Lord  Treasurer 
Godolphin  without  the  slightest  eifect.  Things 
naturally  grew  woi^se  when  both  the  Duke  and 
Duchess  were  dismissed  from  all  their  posts,  in 
1711 ;  and  at  last,  in  1721,  the  disputes  culminated 
in  a  lawsuit  successfully  brought  against  the  Duke 
by  the  workmen  for  arrears  of  pay,  the  defendant's 
contention  being  that  the  Treasury  was  liable  for 
the  whole  expense.  The  Duchess  vented  her  dis- 
pleasure on  the  unfortunate  architect,  whom  she 
never  credited  with  doing  anything  right.  She 
carefully  kept  his  letters,  and  made  spiteful  en- 
dorsements on  them  for  the  benefit  of  her  counsel 
at  the  trial. 

While  Sarah  was  perpetually  involving  herself 
in  quarrels  with  her  architect,  the  Duke  was  in- 
directly furthering  the  progress  of  the  building  by 
a  succession  of  victories  abroad.  Without  taking 
an  active  part,  he  was  yet  much  interested  in  the 
house,  always  looking  forward  to  the  time  when 
he  should  live  there  in  peace  with  his  wife.  When 
on  a  campaign  he  wrote  to  her  nearly  every  other 

124 


CASTLES  AND  STATELY  HOMES 

day,  and  in  almost  every  letter  there  is  a  personal 
touch,  showing  his  ever-present  love  for  her,  his 
keen  anxiety  to  keep  her  love,  and  to  win  her  ap- 
proval of  everything  he  did. 

The  main  interest  of  Mai'lborough's  later  life 
centered  in  Blenheim.  The  Duchess  had  done  the 
lion's  share  of  the  work  of  superintendence;  it 
remained  for  him  to  arrange  the  many  works  of 
art  he  had  bought  and  had  been  given  during  the 
war.  There  still  exists  an  account  of  the  prices 
he  paid  for  tapestries  made  in  Brussels,  most  of 
which  are  now  on  the  walls  of  the  house.  Over 
the  south  front  was  placed  a  bust  of  Louis  XIV.,  a 
trophy  taken  from  the  gates  of  Tournay 

Changes  of  fashion  and  of  taste  have  left  their 
mark  on  Blenheim;  and,  as  the  old  oaks  recall  the 
joyousness  of  the  Middle  Ages,  and  the  elms  and 
cedars  have  a  certain  air  of  eighteenth-century 
stateliness,  so  perhaps  the  orchids,  w^ith  their 
exotic  delicacy,  may  be  held  typical  of  the  decadent 
present.  From  the  house  many  treasures,  once 
part  of  its  adornment,  are  now  missed;  and  while 
books,  pictures,  and  gems  have  disappeared,  modern 
ideas  of  comfort  have  suggested  the  insertion  of 
electric  lights  and  telephones.  To  regi-et  the 
treasures  of  the  past  is  a  commonplace;  it  would 
seem  fitter  to  make  the  best  of  the  advantages  of 
the  present. 


125 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 
WARWICK* 

BY  HARRIET  BEECHER   STOWE 

When  we  came  fairly  into  the  courtyard  of  War- 
wick Castle,  a  scene  of  magnificent  beauty  opened 
before  us.  I  can  not  describe  it  minutely.  The 
principal  features  are  the  battlements,  towers,  and 
turrets  of  the  old  feudal  castle,  encompassed  by 
grounds  on  which  has  been  expended  all  that 
princely  art  of  landscape  gardening  for  which 
England  is  famous — leafy  thickets,  magnificent 
trees,  openings,  and  vistas  of  verdure,  and  wide 
sweeps  of  grass,  short,  thick,  and  vividly  green, 
as  the  velvet  moss  we  sometimes  see  growing  on 
rocks  in  New  England.  Grass  is  an  art  and  a 
science  in  England — it  is  an  institution.  The  pains 
that  are  taken  in  sowing,  tending,  cutting,  clipping, 
rolling,  and  otherwise  nursing  and  coaxing  it,  being 
seconded  by  the  misty  breath  and  often  falling 
tears  of  the  climate,  produce  results  which  must 
be  seen  to  be  appreciated 

Here,  under  the  shade  of  lofty  cedars,  has 
sprung  and  fallen  an  hereditary  line  of  princes. 
One  can  not  but  feel,  in  looking  on  these  majestic 
trees,  with  the  battlements,  turrets,  and  towers 
of  the  old  castle  everyAvhere  surrounding  him,  and 
the  magnificent  parks  and  lawns  opening  through 
dreamy  vistas  of  trees  into  what  seems  immeasur- 
able distance,  the  force  of  the  soliloquy  which 
Shakespeare  puts  into  the  mouth  of  the  dying  old 
king-maker,  as  he  lies  ebreathing  out  his  soul  in 
the  dust  and  blood  of  the  battlefield 

♦From  "Sunny  Memories  of  Foreign  Lands." 

126 


CASTLES  AND  STATELY  HOMES 

I  have  described  the  grounds  first,  but,  in  fact, 
we  did  not  look  at  them  first,  but  went  into  the 
house  where  we  saw  not  only  all  the  state  rooms, 
but,  through  the  kindness  of  the  noble  proprietor, 
many  of  those  which  are  not  commonly  exhibited; 
a  bewildering  display  of  magnificent  apartments, 
pictures,  gems,  vases,  arms  and  armor,  antiques, 
all,  in  short,  that  the  wealth  of  a  princely  and 
powerful  family  had  for  centuries  been  accumu- 
lating. 

The  great  hall  of  the  castle  is  sixty-two  feet  in 
length  and  forty  in  breadth,  ornamented  with  a 
richly  carved  Gothic  roof,  in  which  figures  largely 
the  family  cognizance  of  the  bear  and  ragged  staff. 
There  is  a  succession  of  shields,  on  which  are  em- 
blazoned the  quarterings  of  successive  Earls  of 
Warwick.  The  sides  of  the  wall  are  ornamented 
with  lances,  corselets,  shields,  helmets,  and  complete 
suits  of  armor,  regularly  arranged  as  in  an  ar- 
mory. 

Here  we  saw  the  helmet  of  Cromwell,  a  most 
venerable  relic.  Before  the  great,  cavernous  fire- 
place was  piled  up  on  a  sled  a  quantity  of  yew- 
tree  wood.  The  rude  simplicity  of  thus  arrang- 
ing it  on  the  polished  fioor  of  this  magnificent 
apartment  struck  me  as  quite  singular.  I  suppose 
it  is  a  continuation  of  some  ancient  custom. 

Opening  from  this  apartment  on  either  side 
are  suites  of  rooms,  the  whole  series  being  three 
hundred  and  thirty-three  feet  in  length.  These 
rooms  are  all  hung  with  pictures,  and  studded 
with  antiques  and  curiosities  of  immense  value. 
There  is,  first,  the  red  drawing-room,  and  then 
the  cedar  drawing-room,  then  the  gilt  drawing- 
room,  the  state  bedroom,  the  boudoir,  etc.,  etc., 

127 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

hung  with  pictures  by  Vandyke,  Rubens,  Guido, 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  Paul  Veronese,  any  one  of 
which  would  require  days  of  study. 

I  walked  to  one  of  the  windows  of  these  lordly 
apartments,  and  while  the  company  were  examin- 
ing buhl  cabinets,  and  all  other  deliciousness  of 
the  place,  I  looked  down  the  old  gray  walls  into 
the  amber  waters  of  the  Avon,  which  flows  at  their 
base,  and  thought  that  the  most  beautiful  of  all 
was  without.  There  is  a  tiny  fall  that  crosses 
the  river  just  above  here,  whose  waters  turn 
the  wheels  of  an  old  mossy  mill,  where  for  centuries 
the  family  gTain  has  been  ground.  The  river 
winds  away  through  the  beautiful  parks  and  un- 
dulating foliage,  its  soft,  grassy  banks  dotted  here 
and  there  with  sheep  and  cattle,  and  you  catch 
farewell  gleams  and  glitters  of  it  as  it  loses  itself 
among  the  trees. 

Gray  moss,  wallflowers,  ivy,  and  grass  were 
gTowing  here  and  there  out  of  crevices  in  the 
castle  walls,  as  I  looked  down,  sometimes  trailing 
their  rippling  tendrils  in  the  river.  This  vegetative 
propensity  of  walls  is  one  of  the  chief  graces 
of  these  old  buildings. 

In  the  state  bedroom  were  a  bed  and  furnish- 
ings of  rich  crimson  velvet,  once  belonging  to 
Queen  Anne,  and  presented  by  George  III.  to  the 
Warwick  family.  The  walls  are  hung  with  Brus- 
sels tapestry,  representing  the  gardens  of  Ver- 
sailles as  they  were  at  the  time.  The  chimney- 
piece,  which  is  sculptured  of  verde  antique  and 
white  marble,  supports  two  black  marble  vases  on 
its  mantel.  Over  the  mantel-piece  is  a  full-length 
portrait  of  Queen  Anne,  in  a  rich  brocade  dress, 
wearing  the  collar  and  jewels  of  the  garter,  bear- 

128 


CASTLES  AND  STATELY  HOMES 

ing  in  one  hand  a  scepter,  and  in  the  other  a 
globe.  There  are  two  splendid  buhl  cabinets  in 
the  room,  and  a  table  of  costly  stone  from  Italy; 
it  is  mounted  on  a  richly  carved  and  gilt  stand. 

The  boudoir,  which  adjoins,  is  hung  with  pea- 
green  satin  and  velvet.  In  this  room  is  one  of 
the  most  authentic  portraits  of  Henry  VIIL,  by 
Holbein,  in  which  that  selfish,  brutal,  unfeeling 
tyrant  is  veritably  set  forth,  with  all  the  gold 
and  gems  which,  in  his  day,  blinded  mankind;  his 
fat,  white  hands  were  beautifully  painted.   .    .    . 

After  having  examined  all  the  upper  stories,  we 
went  down  into  the  vaults  underneath — vaults  once 
grim  and  hoary,  terrible  to  captives  and  feudal 
enemies,  now  devoted  to  no  purpose  more  grim 
than  that  of  coal  cellars  and  wine  vaults.  In 
Oliver's  time,  a  regiment  was  quartered  there; 
they  are  extensive  enough,  apparently,  for  an 
army. 

The  kitchen  and  its  adjuncts  are  of  magnificent 
dimensions,  and  indicate  an  ancient  amplitude  in 
the  way  of  provision  for  good  cheer  worthy  an 
ancient  house;  and  what  struck  me  as  a  still 
better  feature  was  a  library  of  sound,  sensible, 
historical,  and  religious  works  for  the  servants. 

We  went  into  the  beer  vaults,  where  a  man  drew 
beer  into  a  long  black  jack,  such  as  Scott  des- 
cribes. It  is  a  tankard,  made  of  black  leather,  I 
should  think  half  a  yard  deep.  He  drew  the 
beer  from  a  large  hogshead,  and  offered  us  some 
in  a  glass.  It  looked  very  clear,  but,  on  tasting,  I 
found  it  so  exceedingly  bitter  that  it  struck  me  there 
would  be  small  virtue  for  me  in  abstinence. 


1—9  129 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 


KENILWORTH* 

BY  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT 

The  outer  wall  of  this  splendid  and  gigantic 
structure  enclosed  seven  acres,  a  part  of  which 
was  occupied  by  ex:tensive  stables,  and  by  a  pleas- 
ure garden,  with  its  trim  arbors  and  parterres, 
and  the  rest  formed  the  large  base-court,  or  outer- 
yard,  of  the  noble  castle.  The  lordly  structure  it- 
self, which  rose  near  the  center  of  this  spacious 
enclosure,  was  composed  of  a  huge  pile  of  mag- 
nificent castellated  buildings,  apparently  of  dif- 
ferent ages,  suiTOunding  an  inner  court,  and  bear- 
ing in  the  names  attached  to  each  portion  of  the 
magnificent  mass,  and  in  the  armorial  bearings 
which  were  there  blazoned,  the  emblems  of  mighty 
cliiefs  who  had  long  passed  away,  and  whose  his- 
tory, could  ambition  have  lent  ear  to  it,  might 
have  read  a  lesson  to  the  haughty  favorite,  who 
had  now  acquired  and  was  augmenting  the  fair 
domain.  A  large  and  massive  keep,  which  formed 
the  citadel  of  the  castle,  was  of  uncertain  tho 
great  antiquity.  It  bore  the  name  of  Csesar,  per- 
haps from  its  resemblance  to  that  in  the  Tower 
of  London  so  called. 

Some  antiquaries  ascribe  its  foundation  to  the 
time  of  Kenelph,  from  whom  the  castle  had  its 
name,  a  Saxon  King  of  Mercia,  and  others  to  an 
early  era  after  the  Norman  Conquest.    On  the  ex- 

*From  Scott's  "Kenilworth."  Kenilworth  is  now  the 
most  stately  ruined  castle  in  England.  Its  destruction 
dates  from  the  Civil  War,  when  it  was  dismantled  by 
soldiers  under  Cromwell.  Then  it  was  allowed  to  decay. 
Scott  describes  it  as  it  was  in  Queen  Elizabeth's  time. 

130 


CASTLES  AND  STATELY  HOMES 

terior  walls  frowned  the  escutcheon  of  the  Clin- 
tons, by  whom  they  were  founded  in  the  reign  of 
Henry  I.,  and  of  the  yet  more  redoubted  Simon 
de  Montfort,  by  whom,  during  the  Barons'  wars, 
Kenilworth  was  long  held  out  against  Henry  III. 
Here  Mortimer,  Earl  of  March,  famous  alike  for 
his  rise  and  his  fall,  had  once  gaily  revelled  in 
Kenilworth,  while  his  dethroned  sovereign,  Ed- 
ward II.  languished  in  its  dungeons.  Old  John 
of  Gaunt,  ''time-honored  Lancaster,"  had  widely 
extended  the  castle,  erecting  that  noble  and  mas- 
sive pile  which  yet  bears  the  name  of  Lancaster's 
buildings :  and  Leicester  himself  had  outdone  the 
former  possessors,  princely  and  powerful  as  they 
were,  by  erecting  another  immense  structure, 
which  now  lies  crusht  under  its  own  ruins,  the 
monument  of  its  owner's  ambition.  The  external 
wall  of  this  royal  castle  was,  on  the  south  and 
west  sides,  adorned  and  defended  by  a  lake  partly 
artificial,  across  which  Leicester  had  constructed 
a  stately  bridge,  that  Elizabeth  might  enter  the 
castle  by  a  path  hitherto  untrodden,  instead  of  the 
usual  entrance  to  the  northward,  over  which  he 
had  erected  a  gate-house,  or  barbican,  which  stiU 
exists,  and  is  equal  in  extent,  and  superior  in 
architecture,  to  the  baronial  castle  of  many  a 
northern  chief. 

Beyond  the  lake  lay  an  extensive  chase,  full  of 
red-deer,  fallow-deer,  roes,  and  eveiy  species  of 
game,  and  abounding  with  lofty  trees,  from 
among  which  the  extended  front  and  massive 
towers  of  the  castle  were  seen  to  rise  in  majesty 
and  beauty.  We  can  not  but  add  that  of  this 
lordly  palace,  where  princes  feasted  and  heroes 
fought,  now  in  the  bloody  earnest  of  stomi  and 

131 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

siege,  and  now  in  the  games  of  chivalry,  where 
beauty  dealt  the  prize  which  valor  won,  all  is  now 
desolate.  The  bed  of  the  lake  is  but  a  rushy 
swamp  and  the  massive  ruins  of  the  castle  only 
serve  to  show  what  their  splendor  once  was,  and 
to  impress  on  the  musing  visitor  the  transitory 
value  of  human  possessions,  and  the  happiness 
of  those  who  enjoy  a  humble  lot  in  virtuous  con- 
tentment. 


ALNWICK* 

BY  WILLIAM  HOWITT 

A  visit  to  Alnwick  is  like  going  back  into  the 
old  feudal  times.  The  town  still  retains  the  mod- 
erate dimensions  and  the  quiet  air  of  one  that 
has  grown  up  under  the  protection  of  the  castle, 
and  of  the  great  family  of  the  castle.  Other 
towns,  that  arose  under  the  same  circumstances, 
have  caught  the  impulse  of  modem  commerce  and 
manufacture,  and  have  grown  into  huge,  bustling, 
and  noisy  cities,  in  which  the  old  fortified  walls 
and  the  old  castle  have  either  vanished,  or  have 
been  swalloAved  up,  and  stand,  as  if  in  super- 
annuated wonder,  amid  a  race  and  a  wilderness 
of  buildings,  with  which  they  have  nothing  in 
common.  When,  however,  you  enter  Alnwick, 
you  still  feel  that  you  are  entering  a  feudal  place. 
It  is  as  the  abode  of  the  Percys  has  ])resented 
itself  to  your  imagination.  It  is  still,  quaint, 
gray,   and   old-worldish.   .    ,    . 

In  fact,  the  whole  situation  is  fine,  without  be- 

♦P^rom  "Visits  to  Reniiirk.-ible  Places." 
132 


CASTLES  AND  STATELY  HOMES 

ing  highly  romantic,  and  worthy  of  its  superb 
old  fabric.  In  the  castle  itself,  without  and  with-' 
in,  I  never  saw  one  on  English  gi'ound  that  more 
delighted  me;  because  it  more  completely  came 
up  to  the  beau  ideal  of  the  feudal  baronial  man- 
sion, and  especially  of  that  of  the  Percys,  the 
great  chieftains  of  the  British  Border — the  heroes 
of  Otterburn  and  Chevy  Chase. 

Notliing  can  be  more  striking  than  the  effect 
at  first  entering  within  the  walls  from  the  town; 
when,  through  a  dark  gloomy  gateway  of  con- 
siderable length  and  depth,  the  eye  suddenly 
emerges  into  one  of  the  most  splendid  scenes  that 
can  be  imagined;  and  is  presented  at  once  Tvdth 
the  gTeat  body  of  the  inner  castle,  suiTOunded 
with  fair  semi-circular  towers,  finely  swelling  to 
the  eye,  and  gaily  adorned  with  pinnacles,  battle- 
ments, etc.  The  impression  is  still  further 
strengthened  by  the  successive  entrances  into  the 
second  and  third  courts,  through  gTeat  massy 
towers,  till  you  are  landed  in  the  inner  court,  in 
the  veiy  center  of  this  great  citadel. 

An  idea  may  be  formed  of  the  scale  of  this 
brave  castle,  when  we  state  that  it  includes,  with- 
in its  outer  walls,  about  five  acres  of  ground; 
and  that  its  walls  are  flanked  with  sixteen  towers, 
wliich  now  aiford  a  complete  set  of  offices  to  the 
castle,  and  many  of  them  retain  not  only  their 
ancient  names,  but  also  their  original  uses. 

The  castle  courts,  except  the  center  one,  are 
beautifully  carpeted  with  gTeen  turf,  which  gives 
them  a  very  pleasant  aspect.  In  the  center  of  the 
second  court  is  a  lion  with  his  paw  on  a  ball, 
a  copy  of  one  of  the  lions  of  St.  ]VIark  at 
Venice.  .  .  . 

133 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

The  inner  court  is  square,  with  the  corners 
taken  off;  and  on  the  wall  opposite  to  the 
entrance  are  medallion  portraits  of  the  first 
Duke  and  Duchess.  Near  the  gateway  appear 
the  old  wheels  and  axle  which  worked  the 
great  well,  over  which  is  the  figure  of  a 
pilgrim  blessing  the  waters.  Within  the  gate- 
way you  enter  an  octagon  tower,  where  the 
old  dungeon  still  remains  in  the  floor,  covered 
with  its  iron  grate.  It  is  eleven  feet  deep,  by  nine 
feet  eight  inches  and  a  half  square  at  the  bottom. 
In  the  court  are  two  other  dungeons,  now  or 
formerly  used  for  a  force-pump  to  throw  water 
up  to  the  top  of  the  castle;  and  one  now  not 
used  at  all — which  coald  all  be  so  closed  down  as 
to  exclude  the  prisoners  from  both  sound  and 
light 

Having  wandered  thus  around  this  noble  pile, 
it  is  time  to  enter  it.  Of  the  interior,  however, 
I  shall  not  say  much  more  than  that  it  is  at  once 
a  fitting  modern  residence  for  a  nobleman  of  the 
high  rank  and  ancient  descent  of  the  proprietor, 
and  in  admirable  keeping  with  its  exterior.  The 
rooms  are  fitted  up  with  light  Gothic  tracery  on 
the  walls,  very  chaste  and  elegant ;  and  the  colors 
are  so  delicate  and  subdued,  that  you  are  not 
offended  with  that  feeling  of  over-fineness  that 
is  felt  at  Raby. 

You  ascend  by  a  noble  staircase,  surrounded 
with  armorial  escutcheons  instead  of  a  cornice, 
to  a  suite  of  vei-y  spacious  and  handsome  rooms, 
of  which  the  principal  are  the  saloon,  dining- 
room,  breakfast-room,  library,  and  chapel.  The 
ceilings  are  finely  worked  into  compartments 
with    escutcheons    and     pendants.      The     walls 

134 


CASTLES  AND  STATELY  HOMES 

of  the  saloon  are  covered  with  crimson  silk, 
sprig-ged  with  yellow  flowers;  those  of  the  din- 
ing-room, with  pale  buff,  and  white  moldings,  rich 
tracery  and  elegant  compartmented  ceiling.  In 
the  center  of  some  of  the  arches  you  see  the  cres- 
cent, the  crest  of  the  Percys. 

On  the  whole,  it  is  a  noble  and  highly  satis- 
factory mansion;  but  still  it  is  when  you  get 
without  again  that  you  feel  the  real  antiquity 
and  proud  dignity  of  the  place.  The  fame  of  the 
Percy  and  the  Douglas  seems  to  be  whispered  by 
every  wind  that  plays  around  those  old  towers. 


HAMPTON  COURT* 

BY  WILLIAM  HOWITT 

To  the  visitors  of  cultivated  taste  and  historic 
knowledge,  Hampton  Court  abounds  with  sub- 
jects of  reflective  interest  of  the  highest  order. 
It  is  true,  that,  compared  with  some  of  our  pal- 
aces, it  can  lay  no  claims  to  antiquity;  but  from 
the  days  of  Henry  VIII.  to  those  of  George  III., 
there  are  few  of  them  that  have  witnessed  more 
singular  or  momentous  events. 

Overbearing  despot  as  Wolsey  [who  built  it] 
was,  there  is  something  magnificent  in  the  sweep 
of  his  ambition,  and  irresistibly  interesting  in 
the  greatness  of  his  fall.  He  was  the  last  of 
those  haughty  prelates  in  the  good  old  Cath- 
olic times  who  rose  up  from  the  dust  of 
insignificance  into  the  most  lordly  and  over- 
grown   magnificence;    outdoing   monarchs    in    the 

•From  "Visits  to  Remarkable  Places." 

135 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

number  of  their  servants,  and  in  the  pomp  of 
their  state.  Equaling  the  great  Cardinals  who 
have  figured  on  the  Continent,  Ximenes,  Richelieu, 
Mazarin,  and  De  Retz,  in  political  ability  and  per- 
sonal ambition,  he  exceeded  all  in  the  wealth  which 
he  unhesitatingly  seized,  and  the  princely  splen- 
dor in  which  he  lived. 

When  we  enter,  therefore,  the  gates  of 
Hampton  Court,  and  are  struck  with  the  mag- 
nificent extent  of  the  erection,  which  at  that  time 
not  onl}^,  according  to  Rapin,  ^'was  a  stately 
palace,  and  outshined  all  the  king's  houses,"  but 
was  one  of  the  most  splendid  structures  in  Eu- 
rope, we  can  not  help  figuring  to  ourselves  the 
proud  Cardinal  surveying  its  progi'ess,  and  mus- 
ing over  the  wonders  of  that  career  which  had 
brought  him,  if  not  from  the  humble  estate  of  the 
son  of  a  butcher,  yet  from  an  origin  of  no  great 
condition,  or  it  could  not  have  remained  dubious 
to  this  period — the  wealthiest  man  in  Europe,  the 
most  potent  in  political  influence,  and  the  ardent 
aspirant  to  the  Popedom  itself.   .    .    . 

It  was  only  at  Hampton  Court  that  his  vast 
train  of  ser\^ants  and  attendants,  with  the  nobil- 
ity and  ambassadors  who  flocked  about  him, 
could  be  fully  entertained.  These,  as  we  learn 
from  his  gentleman-usher,  Cavendish,  were  little 
short  of  a  thousand  persons ;  for  there  were  upon 
his  ''cheine  roll"  eight  hundred  persons  belong- 
ing to  his  household,  independent  of  suitors,  wlio 
were  all  entertained  in  the  hall.  In  this  hall  he 
had  daily  spread  three  tables.  At  the  head  of 
the  fii'st  presided  a  priest,  a  steward;  at  that  of 
the  second  a  knight,  as  treasurer;  and  at  the 
third  his  comptroller,  who  was  an  esquire.  .    .    . 

136 


CASTLES  AND  STATELY  HOMES 

Besides  these,  there  was  always  a  doctor,  a  con- 
fessor, two  almoners,  three  marshals,  three  ushers 
of  the  hall,  and  groom.  The  furnishing  of  these 
tables  required  a  proportionate  kitchen;  and  here 
were  two  clerks,  a  clerk-comptroller,  and  sur- 
veyor of  the  dressers;  a  clerk  of  the  spicery;  two 
cooks,  with  laborers  and  children  for  assistants; 
turnspits  a  dozen;  four  scullery-men;  two  yeo- 
men of  the  pastry,  and  two  paste-layers.  In  his 
own  kitchen  was  his  master-cook,  daily  drest  in 
velvet  or  satin,  and  wearing  a  gold  chain.  Under 
him  were  two  other  cooks  and  their  six  laborers; 
in  the  larder  a  yeoman  and  groom ;  in  the  scullery^ 
a  yeoman  and  two  grooms ;  in  the  ewry  two  yeo- 
men and  two  gi'ooms;  in  the  buttery  the  same; 
in  the  cellar  three  j^eomen  and  three  pages ;  in  the 
chandlery  and  the  wafer}-,  each  two  yeomen;  in 
the  wardrobe  the  master  of  the  wardrobe  and 
twenty  assistants;  in  the  laundi'y,  yeoman,  gi'oom, 
thirteen  pages,  two  yeoman-purveyors  and  groom- 
purveyor;  in  the  bake-house,  two  yeomen  and 
two  gTooms;  in  the  wood-yard  one  yeoman  and 
groom;  in  the  barn  a  yeoman;  at  the  gate  two 
yeomen  and  two  grooms;  a  yeoman  of  his  barge; 
the  master  of  his  horse;  a  clerk  and  groom  of 
the  stables;  the  farrier;  the  yeoman  of  the  stir- 
rup; a  maltster;  and  sixteen  grooms,  each  keeping- 
four  horses. 

There  were  the  dean  and  sub-dean  of  his 
chapel;  the  repeater  of  the  choii-;  the  gospeler, 
the  epistler,  or  the  singing  priest ;  the  master  of 
the  singers,  with  his  men  and  children.  In  the 
vestry  were  a  yeoman  and  two  grooms.  In  the 
procession  were  commonly  seen  forty  priests,  all 
in  rich  copes  and  other  vestments  of  white  satin, 

137 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

or  scarlet,  or  crimson.  The  altar  was  covered 
with  massy  plate,  and  blazed  with  jewels  and  pre- 
cious stones.  But  if  such  were  his  general  estab- 
lishment, not  less  was  the  aiTay  of  those  who  at- 
tended on  his  person.  In  his  privy  chamber  he 
had  his  chief  chamberlain,  vice-chamberlain,  and 
two  gentlemen-ushers.  Six  gentlemen-waiters  and 
twelve  yeomen;  and  at  their  head  nine  or  ten 
lords  to  attend  on  him,  each  with  their  two  or 
three  servants,  and  some  more,  to  wait  on  them, 
the  Earl  of  Derby  having  five.  Three  gentlemen- 
cupbearers,  gentlemen-carvers,  and  servers  to  the 
amount  of  forty  in  the  great  and  the  privy  cham- 
ber; six  gentlemen-ushers  and  eight  grooms.  At- 
tending on  his  table  were  twelve  doctors  and 
chaplains,  clerk  of  the  closet,  two  clerks  of  the 
signet,  four  counsellors  learned  in  the  law,  and 
two  secretaries. 

He  had  his  riding-clerk;  clerk  of  the  crown; 
clerk  of  the  hamper  and  chaffer;  clerk  of  the 
cheque  for  the  chaplains;  clerk  for  the  yeomen 
of  the  chamber;  and  ''fourteen  footmen  garnished 
with  rich  running-coates,  whensoever  he  had  any 
journey;"  besides  these,  a  herald-at-arms,  ser- 
geant-at-arms,  a  physician,  an  apothecary,  four 
minstrels,  a  keeper  of  the  tents,  an  armorer;  an 
instructor  of  his  wards  in  chancery;  *'an  in- 
structor of  his  wardrop  of  roabes;''  a  keeper 
of  his  chamber;  a  surveyor  of  York,  and  clerk 
of  the  green  cloth.  .  .  . 

I  am  afraid  the  stoiy  of  Henry  VITL  coming 
to  see  this  splendid  palace  on  its  first  being 
built,  and  saying  in  a  jealous  surprize,  ''My 
Lord  Cardinal,  is  this  a  dwelling  for  a  subject ?'* 
and  the  courtly  Cardinal  replying,  "My  gracious 

138 


CASTLES  AND  STATELY  HOMES 

liege,  it  is  not  intended  for  a  subject;  it  is  meant 
only  for  the  greatest  and  most  bounteous  king 
in  Christendom,"  is  too  good  to  be  true;  for 
altho  Wolsey  did  give  up  this  favorite  palace 
to  his  royal  master,  it  was  long  afterward,  and 
only  on  the  palpable  outbreak  of  his  displeasure, 
as  a  most  persuasive  peace-offering;  an  offering 
which,  tho  especially  acceptable,  failed  neverthe- 
less to  ensure  lasting  peace.  The  sun  of  the 
gi'eat  Cardinal  was  already  in  its  decline.  .    .    . 

Henry  VIII.  used  to  keep  his  court  here  fre- 
quently in  great  state,  and  here  he  used  to  cele- 
brate Christmas  in  all  its  ancient  festivity. 
Here  he  lost  his  third  wife,  Jane  Sejnnour,  a 
few  days  after  the  birth  of  his  son  Edward  VL, 
and  felt  or  affected  much  gTief  on  that  account, 
perhaps  because  he  had  not  had  the  pleasure  of 
cutting  off  her  head.  Here  he  manned  his  sixth 
wife,  Lady  Catherine  Parr,  widow  of  Neville, 
Lord  Latimer,  and  sister  of  the  Marquis  of 
Northampton.  This  lady,  who  had  the  hardihood 
to  marry  this  royal  Bluebeard,  after  he  had  di- 
vorced two  waives  and  chopped  off  the  heads  of 
two  others,  narrowly  escaped  the  fate  she  so 
rashly  hazarded.  The  very  warrant  for  her  com- 
mittal to  the  Tower,  whence  she  was  only  to  be 
brought  forth  to  be  burned  at  the  stake  for  here- 
sy, was  signed,  and  on  the  point  of  execution, 
when  she  accidentally  became  aware  of  it,  and 
managed  to  soothe  the  ferocious  t^Trant  by  the 
most  artful  submission  to  his  conceit  of  his  theo- 
logical learning,  and  by  rubbing  his  ulcerated 
leg. 

Here,  as  we  have  said,  Edward  VI.  was  born; 
and  three  days  after  he  was  baptized  in  the  king's 

139 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

chapel  in  the  palace  in  great  state — Cranmer, 
archbishop  of  Canterbury^,  and  the  Duke  of  Nor- 
folk, being"  god-fathers.  Hampton  Court  was  ap- 
propriated by  the  guardians  of  Edward  as  his 
residence,  and  he  was  residing  here  when  the 
council  rose  against  the  authority  of  the  Pro- 
tector Somerset,  and  was  removed  by  him  hence 
to  Windsor  Castle,  lest  the  council  should  ob- 
tain possession  of  his  person.  Here  Bloody  Mary, 
and  her  husband,  Philip  of  Spain,  passed  their 
honeymoon  in  great  retirement;  and  here — when 
they  were  desirous  of  efCaeing  from  the  mind  of 
their  sister,  the  Princess  Elizabeth,  the  recol- 
lection of  her  imprisonment  at  Woodstock,  and 
the  vain  attempts  of  their  arch-rascal  priest 
Stephen  Gardiner,  Lord  Chancellor  and  Bishop 
of  Winchester,  to  coerce  her  into  popei-y,  or  to 
convict  her  of  heresy,  and  probably  bring  her  to 
the  flaming  stake — they  invited  her  to  spend  some 
time  with  them,  and  set  on  foot  banquets,  mask- 
ings,  and  all  sorts  of  revelries. 

Here  they  kept  Christmas  with  her  as  royally 
as  the  father,  Henry  VIII.,  had  kept  it  in  his 
day;  Elizabeth  being  seated  at  the  royal  table 
with  their  majesties,  next  the  cloth  of  state,  and, 
at  the  removal  of  the  dishes,  served  with  a  per- 
fumed napkin  and  plate  of  confect  by  the  Lord 
Paget.  Here,  too,  during  her  stay,  they  gave  a 
grand  tournament,  wlierein  two  hundred  spears 
were  broken  by  contending  knights.  Here  Eliza- 
beth also,  when  sb.e  was  become  the  potent  queen 
instead  of  the  jealously-watched  sister,  contin- 
ued occasionally  to  assemble  her  brilliant  court, 
and  to  hold  merry  Christmas,  as  Mary,  Edward, 
and  her  father  had  done  before.     Here  also  the 

140 


CASTLES  AND  STATELY  HOMES 

especial  festivals  of  the  Christmases  of  1572  and 
1593  were  kept  by  her.   .    .    . 

The  entrance  to  the  portion  of  the  palace  built 
by  Wolsey  is  by  a  sort  of  outer  court  of  gTeat 
ex'tent,  the  gates  of  which  have  their  pillars  sur- 
mounted by  a  large  lion  and  unicorn  as  sup- 
porters of  the  crown  royal,  and  each  of  the  side 
gates  by  a  military  trophy.  Along  the  left  side 
of  the  area  are  barracks  and  such  offices;  the 
greater  part  of  the  right  side  is  open  toward  the 
river,  and  there  stand  nine  as  lofty  and  noble 
elms,  in  a  row,  as  perhaps  any  part  of  England 
can  match.  Two  gateways  are  before  you;  the 
one  to  the  left  leading  to  the  kitchen-court,  the 
center  one  to  the  first  quadrangle.  This  chief 
gatewaj^  has  been  restored,  in  excellent  keeping 
with  the  old  building,  and  has  a  noble  aspect  as 
you'  approach  it,  being  flanked  with  octagon  tow^- 
ers,  pierced  with  a  fine  pointed  arch,  over  which 
are  cut,  in  rich  relief,  the  royal  arms,  and  above 
them  projects  a  large  and  handsome  bay-window, 
framed  of  stone. 

You  now  enter  by  a  Gothic  archway  the  first 
of  the  courts  of  Wolsey  remaining.  These  two 
are  said  to  have  been  the  meanest  then  in  the 
palace.  There  were  originally  five ;  the  three  fin- 
est of  which  were  pulled  down  to  make  way  for 
William  III.'s  gTeat  square  mass  of  brickwork. 
The  writers  who  saw  it  in  its  glory,  describe  it 
in  entireness  as  the  most  splendid  palace  in  Eu- 
rope. Grotius  says,  "other  palaces  are  resi- 
dences of  kings,  but  this  is  of  the  gods."  Hentz- 
ner,  who  saw  it  in  Elizabeth's  time,  speaks  of  it 
with  astonishment,  and  says,  *Hhe  rooms  being 
very    numerous,    are   adorned    with    tapestry    of 

141 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

gold,  silver,  and  velvet,  in  some  of  which  were 
woven  history  pieces;  in  other  Turkish  and  Ar- 
menian dresses,  all  extremely  natural.  In  one 
chamber  are  several  excessively  rich  tapestries, 
which  are  hung  up  when  the  queen  gives  audience 
to  foreign  ambassadors.  All  the  walls  of  the 
palace  shine  with  gold  and  silver.  Here  is  like- 
wise a  certain  cabinet  called  Paradise,  where, 
besides  that  every  thing  glitters  so  with  silver, 
gold,  and  jewels,  as  to  dazzle  one 's  eyes,  there  is 
a  musical  instrument  made  all  of  glass  except 
the   strings." 

It  was,  indeed,  a  Dutch  taste  which  leveled  all 
these  stately  buildings  to  the  ground,  to  erect 
the  great  square  mass  which  replaced  them.  A 
glorious  view,  if  old  drawings  are  to  be  believed, 
must  all  that  vast  and  pictu;resque  variety  of 
towers,  battlements,  tall  mullioned  windows,  cu- 
polas and  pinnacles,  have  made,  as  they  stood 
under  the  clear  heaven  glittering  in  the  sun.  .  .  . 

The  hall,  the  chapel,  the  withdrawing-room, 
are  all  splendid  specimens  of  Gothic  grandeur, 
and  possess  many  historic  associations.  In  the 
hall,  Surrey  wrote  on  a  pane  of  glass  some  of 
his  verses  to  Geraldine ;  and  there,  too,  it  is  said, 
the  play  of  Henry  VIII.,  exhibiting  the  fall  of 
Wolsey  in  the  very  creation  of  his  former  glory, 
was  once  acted,  Shakespeare  himself  being  one 
of  the  performers! 


142 


CASTLES  AND  STATELY  HOMES 
CHATSWORTH  AND  HADDON   HALL* 

BY  ELIHU  BURRITT 

It  was  a  pleasure  quite  equal  to  my  antici- 
pation to  visit  Cliatsworth  for  the  first  time, 
after  a  sojourn  in  England,  off  and  on,  for  six- 
teen years.  It  is  the  lion  number  three,  accord- 
ing to  the  American  ranking  of  the  historical 
edifices  and  localities  of  England.  Stratford- 
upon-Avon,  Westminster  Abbej^  and  Chatsworth 
are  the  three  representative  celebrities  which  our 
travelers  think  they  must  visit  if  they  would  see 
the  life  of  England's  ages  from  the  best  stand- 
points. And  this  is  the  order  in  which  they  rank 
them.  Chatsworth  and  Haddon  Hall  should  be 
seen  the  same  day  if  possible;  so  that  you  may 
carry  the  impression  of  the  one  fresh  and  active 
into  the  other.  They  are  the  two  most  represen- 
tative buildings  in  the  kingdom.  Haddon  is  old 
English  feudalism  edificed.  It  represents  the 
rough  grandeur,  hospitality,  wassail  and  rude 
romance  of  the  English  nobility  five  hundred 
years  ago.  It  was  all  in  its  glory  about  the  time 
when  Thomas-a-Becket,  the  Magnificent,  used  to 
entertain  great  companies  of  belted  knights  of 
the  realm  in  a  manner  that  exceeded  regal  munifi- 
cence in  those  days — even  directing  fresh  straw 
to  be  laid  for  them  on  his  ample  mansion  floor, 
that  they  might  not  soil  the  bravery  of  their 
dresses  when  they  bunked  down  for  the  night. 
The  building  is  brimful  of  the  character  and  his- 
tory of  that  period.     Indeed,  there  are  no  two 

♦From  "A  Walk  From  London  to  John  O'Groats." 

143 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

milestones  of  English  history  so  near  together, 
and  yet  measuring  such  a  space  of  the  nation's 
life  and  manners  between  them,  as  this  hall  and 
that  of  Chatsworth. 

It  was  built,  of  course,  in  the  bow  and  arrow 
times,  when  the  sun  had  to  use  the  same  missiles 
in  shooting  its  barbed  rays  into  the  narrow  aper- 
tures of  old  castles — or  the  stone  coffins  of  fear- 
hunted  knights  and  ladies,  as  they  might  be 
called.  What  a  monument  this  to  the  disposi- 
tions and  habits  of  the  world,  outside  and  inside 
of  that  early  time!  Here  is  the  porter's  or 
warder's  lodge  just  inside  the  huge  gate.  To 
think  of  a  living  being  with  a  human  soul  in  him 
burrowing  in  such  a  place! — a  big,  black  sarco- 
phagus without  a  lid  to  it,  set  deep  in  the  solid 
wall.  Then  there  is  the  chapel.  Compare  it 
with  that  of  Chatsworth,  and  you  may  count 
almost  on  your  fingers  the  centuries  that  have 
intervened  between  them.  It  was  new-roofed 
soon  after  the  discovery  of  America,  and,  per- 
haps, done  up  to  some  show  of  decency  and  com- 
fort. But  how  small  and  rude  the  pulpit  and 
pews — looking  like  rough-boarded  potato-bins! 
Here  is  the  great  banquet-hall,  full  to  overflow- 
ing with  the  tracks  and  cross-tracks  of  that  wild, 
strange  life  of  old.  There  is  a  fire-place  for  you, 
and  the  mark  in  the  chimney-back  of  five  hun- 
dred Christmas  logs.  Doubtless  this  gi-eat  stone 
pavement  of  a  floor  was  carpeted  with  straw  at 
banquets,  after  the  illustrious  Beeket's  pattern. 

Here  is  a  memento  of  the  feast  hanging  up  at 
the  top  of  the  kitchenward  door — a  pair  of 
roughly-forged,  rusty  handcuffs  amalgamated 
into    one    pair    of    jaws,    like    a    muskrat    trap. 

144 


CASTLES  AND  STATELY  HOMES 

AVhat  was  the  use  of  that  thing,  conductor? 
''That  sir,  they  put  the  'ands  in  of  them  as 
shirked  and  didn't  drink  up  all  the  wine  as  was 
poured  into  their  cups,  and  there  they  made  them 
stand  on  tiptoe  up  against  that  door,  sir,  before 
all  the  company,  sir,  until  they  was  ashamed  of 
theirselves."  JDescend  into  the  kitchen,  all 
scarred  with  the  tremendous  cookery  of  ages. 
Here  they  roasted  bullocks  whole,  and  just  back 
in  that  dark  vault  with  a  slit  or  two  in  it  for  the 
light,  they  killed  and  drest  them.  There  are 
relics  of  the  shambles,  and  here  is  the  great  form 
on  which  they  cut  them  up  into  manageable 
pieces.  It  would  do  you  good,  you  Young  Amer- 
ica, to  see  that  form,  and  the  cross-gashes  of  the 
meat  ax  in  it.  It  is  the  half  of  a  gigantic  Eng- 
lish oak,  which  was  gTOwing  in  Julius  Caesar's 
time,  sawed  through  lengthwise,  making  a  top 
surface  several  feet  wide,  black  and  smooth  as 
ebony.  Some  of  the  bark  still  clings  to  the  under 
side.  The  dancing-hall  is  the  great  room  of  the 
building.  All  that  the  taste,  art  and  wealth  of 
that  day  could  do,  was  done  to  make  it  a  splendid 
apartment,  and  it  would  pass  muster  still  as  a 
comfortable  and  respectable  salon.  As  we  pass 
out,  you  may  decipher  the  short  prayer  cut  in 
the  wasting  stone  over  a  side  portal,  ''God  Save 
the  Yernons."  I  hope  this  prayer  has  been  fa- 
vorably answered;  for  history  records  much  vir- 
tue in  the  family,  mingled  with  some  romantic 
escapades,  which  have  contributed,  I  believe,  to 
the  entertainment  of  many  novel  readers. 

Just  what  Haddon  Hall  is  to  the  baronial  life 
and  society  of  England  five  hundred  years  ago, 
is  Chatsworth  to  the  full  stature  of  modern  civil- 

I— 10  145 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

ization  and  aristocratic  wealth,  taste  and  posi- 
tion. Of  this  it  is  probably  the  best  measure 
and  representative  in  the  kingdom;  and  as  such 
it  possesses  a  special  value  and  interest  to  the 
world  at  large.  Were  it  not  for  here  and  there 
such  an  establishment,  we  should  lack  way- 
marks  in  the  progTess  of  the  arts,  sciences  and 
tastes  of  advancing  civilization. 

EATON  HALL* 

BY   NATHANIEL   HAWTHORNE 

The  Church  of  St.  John  is  outside  of  the  city 
walls  of  Chester.  Entering  the  East  gate,  we 
walked  awhile  under  the  Rows,  bought  our  tick- 
ets for  Eaton  Hall  and  its  gardens,  and  like- 
wise some  playthings  for  the  children;  for  this 
old  city  of  Chester  seems  to  me  to  possess  an 
unusual  number  of  toy-shops.  Finally  we  took 
a  cab,  and  drove  to  the  Hall,  about  four  miles 
distant,  nearly  the  whole  of  the  way  lying 
through  the  wooded  Park.  There  are  many  sorts 
of  trees,  making  up  a  wilderness,  which  looked 
not  unlike  the  woods  of  our  own  Concord,  only 
less  wild.  The  English  oak  is  not  a  handsome 
tree,  being  short  and  sturdy,  with  a  round,  thick 
mass  of  foliage,  lying  all  within  its  own  bounds. 
It  was  a  showery  day.  Had  there  been  any  sun- 
shine, there  might  doubtless  have  been  many 
beautiful   effects   of  light  and   shadow   in  these 

♦From  "English  Note  Books."  By  permission  of, 
and  by  arrangement  witli,  the  publishers  of  Haw- 
thorne's works,  Houghton,  Mifflin  Co.  Copyright,  1870 
and  1898. 

146 


CASTLES  AND  STATELY  HOMES 

woods.  We  saw  one  or  two  herds  of  deer,  quiet- 
ly feeding,  a  hundred  yards  or  so  distant.  They 
appeared  to  be  somewhat  wilder  than  cattle,  but, 
I  think,  not  much  wilder  than  sheep.  Their  an- 
cestors have  probably  been  in  a  half-domesti- 
cated state,  receiving  food  at  the  hands  of  man, 
in  winter,  for  centuries.  There  is  a  kind  of 
poetry  in  this,  quite  as  much  as  if  they  were 
really  wild  deer,  such  as  their  forefathers  were, 
when  Hugh  Lupus  used  to  hunt  them. 

Our  miserable  cab  drew  up  at  the  steps  of 
Eaton  Hall,  and,  ascending  under  the  portico, 
the  door  swung  silently  open,  and  we  were  re- 
ceived very  civilly  by  two  old  men — one,  a  tall 
footman  in  livery;  the  other,  of  higher  grade, 
in  plain  clothes.  The  entrance-hall  is  very  spa- 
cious, and  the  floor  is  tessellated  or  somehow 
inlaid  with  marble.  There  was  statuary  in  mar- 
ble on  the  floor,  and  in  niches  stood  several 
figures  in  antique  armor,  of  various  dates;  some 
with  lances,  and  others  with  battle-axes  and 
swords.  There  was  a  two-handed  sword,  as  much 
as  six  feet  long;  but  not  nearly  so  ponderous  as 
I  have  supposed  this  kind  of  weapon  to  be,  from 
reading  of  it.     I  could  easily  have  brandished  it. 

The  plainly  drest  old  man  now  led  us  into  a 
long  corridor,  which  goes,  I  think,  the  whole 
length  of  the  house,  about  five  hundred  feet, 
arched  all  the  way,  and  leng*thened  interminably 
by  a  looking-glass  at  the  end,  in  which  I  saw  our 
own  party  approaching  like  a  party  of  strangers. 
But  I  have  so  often  seen  this  effect  produced  in 
dry-goods  stores  and  elsewhere,  that  I  was  not 
much  imprest.  There  were  family  portraits  and 
other  pictures,  and  likewise  pieces  of  statuary, 

147 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

along  this  arched  corridor;  and  it  communicated 
with  a  chapel  with  a  scriptural  altar-piece,  copied 
from  Rubens,  and  a  picture  of  St.  Michael  and 
the  Dragon,  and  two,  or  perhaps  three,  richly 
painted  windows.  Everything  here  is  entirely 
new  and  fresh,  this  part  having  been  repaired, 
and  never  yet  inhabited  by  the  familj^  This 
brand-newness  makes  it  much  less  effective  than 
if  it  had  been  lived  in;  and  I  felt  pretty  much 
as  if  I  were  strolling  through  any  other  renewed 
house.  After  all,  the  utmost  force  of  man  can 
do  positively  very  little  toward  making  gi'and 
things  or  beautiful  things.  The  imagination  can 
do  so  much  more,  merely  on  shutting  one's  eyes, 
that  the  actual  effect  seems  meager;  so  that  a 
new  house,  unassociated  with  the  past,  is  exceed- 
ingly unsatisfactory,  especially  when  you  have 
heard  that  the  wealth  and  skill  of  man  has  here 
done  its  best.  Besides,  the  rooms,  as  we  saw 
them,  did  not  look  by  any  means  their  best, 
the  carpets  not  being  down,  and  the  furniture 
being  covered  with  protective  envelops.  How- 
ever, rooms  can  not  be  seen  to  advantage  by  day- 
light; it  being  altogether  essential  to  the  effect, 
that  they  should  be  illuminated  by  artificial  light^ 
which  takes  tliem  somewhat  out  of  the  region 
of  bare  reality.  Nevertheless,  there  was  un- 
doubtedly great  splendor — for  the  details  of 
wliich  I  refer  to  the  guide-book.  Among  the 
family  portraits,  tliere  was  one  of  a  lady  famous 
for  her  beautiful  hand;  and  she  was  holding  it 
up  to  notice  in  tlie  funniest  way — and  very  beau- 
tiful it  certainly  was.  The  private  apartments 
of  the  family  were  no(  shown  us.  I  should  think 
it  impossible  for  the  owner  of  this  house  to  im- 

148 


CASTLES  AND  STATELY  HOMES 

bue  it  with  his  personality  to  such  a  degTee  as  to 
feel  it  to  be  his  home.  It  must  be  like  a  small 
lobster  in  a  shell  much  too  larg-e  for  him. 

After  seeing-  what  was  to  be  seen  of  the  rooms, 
we  visited  the  gardens,  in  which  are  noble  con- 
servatories and  hot-houses,  containing  all  man- 
ner of  rare  and  beautiful  flowers,  and  tropical 
fruits.  I  noticed  some  large  pines,  looking  as 
if  they  were  really  made  of  gold.  The  gardener 
(under-gardener  I  suppose  he  was)  who  showed 
this  part  of  the  spectacle  was  very  intelligent  as 
well  as  kindly,  and  seemed  to  take  an  interest 
in  his  business.  He  gave  S a  purple  ever- 
lasting flower,  which  will  endure  a  gTeat  many 
years,  as  a  memento  of  our  visit  to  Eaton  Hall. 
Finally,  we  took  a  view  of  the  front  of  the  edi- 
fice, w^hich  is  very  fine,  and  much  more  satisfac- 
tory than  the  interior — and  returned  to  Chester. 


HOLLAND   HOUSE* 

BY  WILLIAM   HOWITT 

Of  Holland  House,  the  last  residence  of  Addi- 
son, it  would  require  a  long  article  to  give  a  fit- 
ting idea.  This  fine  old  mansion  is  full  of  his- 
toric associations.  It  takes  its  name  from  Henry 
Rich,  earl  of  Holland,  whose  portrait  is  in  Bil- 
ton.  It  was  built  by  his  father-in-law.  Sir  Walter 
Cope,  in  1607,  and  affords  a  very  good  specimen 
of  the  architecture  of  that  period.  The  general 
form  is  that  of  a  half  H,     The  projection  in  the 

*From  "Homes  and  Haunts  of  the  Most  Eminent 
British  Poets." 

149 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

center,  forming  at  once  porch  and  tower,  and 
the  two  wings  supported  on  pillars,  give  great 
decision  of  effect  to  it.  The  stone  quoins  worked 
with  a  sort  of  arabesque  figure,  remind  one  of 
the  style  of  some  portions  of  Heidelberg  Castle, 
which  is  what  is  called  on  the  Continent  roccoco. 
Here  it  is  deemed  Elizabethan;  but  the  plain 
buildings  attached  on  each  side  to  the  main  body 
of  the  house,  with  their  shingled  and  steep- 
roofed  towers,  have  a  very  picturesque  and  Bo- 
hemian look.  Altogether,  it  is  a  charming  old 
pile,  and  the  interior  corresponds  beautifully 
with  the  exterior.  There  is  a  fine  entrance-hall, 
a  library  behind  it,  and  another  library  extend- 
ing the  whole  length  of  one  of  the  wings  and 
the  house  upstairs,  one  hundred  and  five  feet  in 
length.  The  drawing-room  over  the  entrance- 
hall,  called  the  Gilt  Room,  extends  from  front 
to  back  of  the  house,  and  commands  views  of 
the  gardens  both  way;  those  to  the  back  are 
very  beautiful. 

In  the  house  are,  of  course,  many  interesting 
and  valuable  works  of  art;  a  great  portion  of 
them  memorials  of  the  distinguished  men  who 
have  been  accustomed  to  resort  thither.  In  one 
room  is  a  portrait  of  Charles  James  Fox,  as  a 
child,  in  a  light  blue  dress,  and  with  a  close, 
reddish,  woolen  cap  on  his  head,  under  which 
show  lace  edges.  The  artist  is  unknown,  but  is 
supposed  to  be  French.  The  countenance  is  full 
of  life  and  intelligence,  and  the  ** child"  in  it 
is,  most  remarkably,  'Hhe  father  of  the  man." 
The  likeness  is  wonderful.  You  can  imagine 
how,  by  time  and  circumstance,  that  child's 
countenance   expanded    into    what   it   became    in 

150 


CASTLES  AND  STATELY  HOMES 

maturity.  There  is  also  a  portrait  of  Addison, 
which  belonged  to  his  daughter.  It  represents 
him  as  much  younger  than  any  other  that  I  have 
seen.  In  the  Gilt  Room  are  marble  busts  of 
George  IV.  and  William  IV.  On  the  staircase 
is  a  bust  of  Lord  Holland,  father  of  the  second 
earl  and  of  Charles  Fox,  by  Nollekens.  This 
bust,  which  is  massy,  and  full  of  power  and  ex- 
pression, is  said  to  have  brought  Nollekens  into 
his  great  repute.  The  likeness  to  that  of  Charles 
Fox  is  very  striking.  By  the  same  artist  there 
are  also  the  busts  of  Charles  Fox,  the  late  Lord 
Holland,  and  the  present  earl.  That  of  Frere, 
by  Chantry,  is  very  spirited.  There  are  also, 
here,  portraits  of  Lord  Lansdowne,  Lord  John 
Russell,  and  family  portraits.  There  is  also  a 
large  and  very  curious  painting  of  a  fair,  by 
Callot,  and  an  Italian  print  of  it. 

In  the  library,  downstairs,  are  portraits  of 
Charles  James  Fox — a  very  fine  one;  of  the  late 
Lord  Holland;  of  Talleyrand,  by  Ary  Scheffer, 
perhaps  the  best  in  existence,  and  the  only  one 
which  he  said  that  he  ever  sat  for ;  of  Sir  Samuel 
Romilly;  Sir  James  Mackintosh;  Lord  Erskine, 
by  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence;  Tierney;  Francis  Hor- 
ner, by  Raeburn,  so  like  Sir  Walter  Scott,  by  the 
same  artist,  that  I  at  first  supposed  it  to  be  him ; 
Lord  Macartne}^,  by  Phillips;  Frere,  hj  Shea; 
Mone,  Lord  Thanet;  Archibald  Hamilton;  late 
Lord  Darnley;  late  Lord  King,  w^hen  young,  by 
Hoppner;  and  a  very  sweet,  foreign  fancy  por- 
trait of  the  present  Lady  Holland.  We  miss, 
however,  from  this  haunt  of  genius,  the  portraits 
of  Byron,  Brougham,  Crabbe,  Blanco  White,  Hal- 
lam,  Rogers,  Lord  Jeffrey,  and  others.     In   the 

151 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

left  wing  is  placed  the  colossal  model  of  the 
statue  of  Charles  Fox,  which  stands  in  Blooms- 
bury  Square. 

In  the  gardens  are  various  memorials  of  dis- 
tinguished men.  Among  several  very  fine  cedars, 
perhaps  the  finest  is  said  to  have  been  planted 
by  Charles  Fox:.  In  the  quaint  old  garden  is  an 
alcove,  in  which  are  the  following  lines,  placed 
there  by  the  late  earl: 

^'Here  Rogers  sat — and  here  for  ever  dwell 
With  me,  those  pleasures  which  he  sang  so 
well." 

Beneath  these  are  framed  and  glazed  a  copy 
of  verses  in  honor  of  the  same  poet,  by  Mr. 
Luttrell.  There  is  also  in  the  same  garden,  and 
opposite  this  alcove,  a  bronze  bust  of  Napoleon, 
on  a  granite  pillar,  with  a  Greek  inscription  from 
the  Odyssey,  admirably  appljdng  the  situation 
of  Ulysses  to  that  of  Napoleon  at  St.  Helena: 
^'In  a  far-distant  isle  he  remains  under  the  harsh 
surveillance  of  base  men." 

The  fine  avenue  leading  down  from  the  house 
to  the  Kensington  road  is  remarkable  for  having 
often  been  the  walking  and  talking  place  of 
Cromwell  and  General  Lambert.  Lambert  then 
occupied  Holland  House;  and  Cromwell,  who 
lived  next  door,  when  he  came  to  converse  with 
him  on  state  affaii-s,  had  to  speak  very  loud  to. 
him,  because  he  was  deaf.  To  avoid  being  over- 
heard, they  used  to  walk  in  this  avenue. 

The  traditions  regarding  Addison  here  are 
very  slight.  They  are,  simply,  that  he  used  to 
walk,    when    composing    his    ^'Spectators,"   in    the 

152 


CASTLES  AND  STATELY  HOMES 

long  library,  then  a  picture  gallery,  with  a  bottle 
of  wine  at  each  end,  which  he  visited  as  he  al- 
ternately arrived  at  them;  and  that  the  room  in 
which  he  died,  tho  not  positively  known,  is  sup- 
posed to  be  the  present  dining-room,  being  then 
the  state  bed-room.  The  young  Earl  of  Warwick, 
to  whom  he  there  addrest  the  emphatic  words, 
' '  See  in  what  peace  a  Christian  can  die ! ' '  died 
also,  himself,  in  1721,  but  two  years  afterward. 
The  estate  then  devolved  to  Lord  Kensington, 
descended  from  Robert  Rich,  Earl  of  Warwick, 
who  sold  it,  about  1762,  to  the  Right  Honorable 
Henry  Fox,  afterward  Lord  Holland.  Here  the 
early  days  of  the  great  statesman,  Charles  James, 
were  passed. 


ARUNDEL* 

BY  AXNA  BOWMAX  DODD 

Such  a  vast  architectural  mass  as  Arundel 
Castle,  implanted  in  Saxon,  Roman,  and  feudal 
military  necessities,  strikes  its  roots  deep  and 
Avide.  The  town  appeared,  in  comparison,  to  be 
but  an  accidental  projection  on  the  hillside.  The 
walls  grow  out  of  the  town  as  the  trunks  of  a 
great  tree  shoot  forth  from  the  grouaid — of  a 
different  growth,  but  an  integral  part  of  it. 

Topographically,  Arundel  has  only  a  few  feat- 
ures, yet  they  are  fine  enough  to  form  a  rich  en- 
semble.    There  is  the  castle,  huge,  splendid,  im- 

*From  "Cathedral  Days."  By  permission  of,  and 
by  arrangement  with,  the  publishers,  Little,  Brown 
&  Co.     Copyright,  1SS7. 

153 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

pressive,  set  like  a  gi'eat  gray  pearl  on  the  crown 
of  the  hill.  On  one  side  spreads  the  town;  on 
the  other,  the  tall  trees  of  the  castle  park  begirt 
its  towers  and  battlements.  At  the  foot  of  the 
hill  runs  the  river — a  beautiful  sinuous  stream, 
which  curves  its  course  between  the  Down  hill- 
sides out  through  the  plains  to  the  sea.  What- 
ever may  have  been  the  fate  of  the  town  in  for- 
mer times,  held  perhaps  at  a  distance  far  below 
in  the  valley,  during  troublous  times  when  the 
castle  must  be  free  for  the  more  serious  work 
of  assault  or  defense,  it  no  longer  lies  at  the  foot 
of  its  great  protector.  In  friendly  confidence  it 
seems  to  sit,  if  not  within  its  arms,  at  least  be- 
side its  knee.   .    .    . 

There  is  no  escaping  the  conclusion  that  a 
duke,  when  one  is  confronted  with  his  castle, 
does  seem  an  awfully  real  being.  The  castle 
was  a  great  Catholic  stronghold,  the  Dukes 
of  Norfolk  being  among  the  few  great  fam- 
ilies which  have  remained  faithful,  since  the  Con- 
quest, to  the  See  of  Rome.  The  present  Duke 
of  Norfolk,  by  reason  of  the  fervor  of  his  piety, 
his  untiring  zeal  and  magnificent  generosity,  is 
recognized  as  the  head  of  the  Catholic  party  in 
England.  To  learn  that  he  was  at  present  on  a 
pilgrimage  to  Lourdes,  and  that  such  was  his 
yearly  custom,  seemed  to  shorten  distance  for  us. 
It  made  the  old — its  beliefs,  its  superstitions, 
its  unquestioning  ardor  of  faith — strangely  new. 
It  invested  the  castle,  which  appealed  to  our 
consciousness  as  something  remote  and  alien, 
with  the  reality  of  its  relation  to  medieval  life 
and  manners. 

The   little   cathedral   which   crowns   the   hill — 

154 


CASTLES  AND  STATELY  HOMES 

the  most  prominent  object  for  miles  about,  after 
the  castle — is  the  gift  of  the  present  Duke.  It 
is  a  pretty  structure,  pointed  Gothic  in  style, 
consciously  reproduced  with  all  the  aids  of  fly- 
ing buttresses,  niches,  pinnacles,  and  arches.  It 
was  doubtless  a  splendid  gift.  Perhaps  in  the 
twenty-first  century,  when  the  weather  has  done 
its  architectural  work  on  the  exterior,  and  when 
the  interior  has  been  finely  dimmed  with  burned 
incense,  w^hen  stained  glass  and  sculptured  effi- 
gies of  saints  have  been  donated  by  future  dukes, 
it  will  be  a  very  imposing  edifice  indeed. 

But  all  the  beauty  of  ecclesiastical  picturesque- 
ness  lies  across  the  way.  Hidden  behind  the  love- 
ly beech-arched  gateway  rests  the  old  parochial 
church.  In  spite  of  restoration  the  age  of  six 
centuries  is  written  unmistakably  on  the  massive 
square  bell-tower,  the  thirteenij-century  tracer- 
ies, and  the  rich  old  glass.  It  is  guarded  by  a 
high  wall  from  the  adjoining  castle-walls,  as 
if  the  castle  still  feared  there  were  something 
dangerously  infectious  in  the  mere  propinquity 
of  such  heresies. 

It  has  had  its  turn  at  the  sieges  that  have  be- 
set the  castle.  From  the  old  tower  there  came  a 
rattling  hail  when  Waller's  artillery  flashed 
forth  its  fire  upon  the  Royalist  garrison  in  the 
castle.  The  old  bells  that  peal  out  the  Sunday 
chimes  seem  to  retain  something  of  the  jubilant 
spirit  of  that  martial  time.  Tliere  was  a  brisk 
military  vigor  in  their  clanging,  suggestive  of 
command  rather  than  of  entreaty,  as  if  they  were 
more  at  home  when  summoning  fighters  than 
worshipers. 

All  is  peace  now.     The  old  church  sits  in  the 

155 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

midst  of  its  gTaves,  like  an  old  patriarch  sur- 
rounded by  the  dead  whom  he  has  survived.  .   .   . 

In  looking  up  at  the  castle  from  the  river,  as 
a  foregTound,  one  has  a  lovely  breastwork  of 
trees,  the  castle  resting  on  the  crown  of  the  hill 
like  some  splendid  jewel.  Its  gi-ayness  makes  its 
strong,  bold  outlines  appear  the  more  distinct 
against  the  melting  backgTound  of  the  faint  blue 
and  white  English  sky  and  the  shifting  sky 
scenery.  .    .    . 

The  earliest  Saxon  who  built  his  stronghold 
where  the  castle  now  stands  must  have  had  an 
eye  for  situation,  pictorially  considered,  as  well 
as  that  keen  martial  foresight  which  told  him 
that  the  warrior  who  commanded  the  first  hill 
from  the  sea,  with  that  bastion  of  natural  forti- 
fications behind  him,  the  Downs,  had  the  God  of 
battle  already  ranged  on  his  side.  The  God  of 
battle  has  been  called  on,  in  times  past,  to  pre- 
side over  a  number  of  military  engagements 
which  have  come  off  on  this  now  peaceful  hill- 
side. 

There  have  been  few  stirring  events  in  English 
history  in  which  Arundel  Castle  has  not  had  its 
share.  As  Norman  barons,  the  Earls  of  Arundel 
could  not  do  less  than  the  other  barons  of  their 
time,  and  so  quarreled  with  their  king.  When 
the  Magna  Charta  was  going  about  to  gain  sign- 
ers, these  feudal  Arundel  gentlemen  figured  in 
the  bill,  so  to  speak.  The  fine  Baron's  Hall, 
which  commemorates  this  memorable  signing,  in 
the  castle  yonder,  was  built  in  honor  of  those  re- 
mote but  far-sighted  ancestors.  The  English- 
man, of  course,  has  neither  the  vanity  of  the 
Frenchman  nor  the  pride  of  the  Spaniard.     But 

156 


CASTLES  AND  STATELY  HOMES 

for  a  modest  people,  it  is  astonishing  what  a 
number  of  monuments  are  built  to  tell  the  rest 
of  the  world  how  free  England  is. 

The  other  events  which  have  in  turn  destroyed 
or  rent  the  castle — its  siege  and  surrender  to 
Henry  L,  the  second  siege  by  King  Stephen,  and 
later  the  struggle  of  the  Cavaliers  and  Round- 
heads for  its  possession,  during  the  absence 
abroad  of  the  then  reigning  Earl — have  been  re- 
corded with  less  boastful  emphasis.  The  recent 
restorations,  rebuildings,  and  enlargements  have 
obliterated  all  traces  of  these  rude  shocks.  It 
has  since  risen  a  hundred  times  more  beautiful 
from  its  ruins.  It  is  due  to  these  modern  reno- 
vations that  the  castle  presents  such  a  superb 
appearance.  It  has  the  air  of  careful  preserva- 
tion which  disting-uishes  some  of  the  great  royal 
residences — such  as  Windsor,  for  instance,  to 
which  it  has  often  been  compared;  its  finish  and 
completeness  suggests  the  modern  chisel.  It  is 
this  aspect  of  completeness,  as  well  as  the  unity 
of  its  fine  architectural  features,  which  makes 
such  a  great  castle  as  this  so  impressive.  As  a 
feudal  stronghold  it  can  hardly  fail  to  appeal  to 
the  imagination.  As  the  modern  palatial  home 
of  an  English  nobleman,  it  appeals  to  something 
more  virile — to  the  sense  that  behind  the  medie- 
val walls  the  life  of  its  occupants  is  still  repre- 
sentative, is  still  deep  and  national  in  impor- 
tance and  significance.  Pictorially,  there  is 
nothing — unless  it  be  a  great  cathedral,  which 
brings  up  quite  a  different  order  of  impressions 
and  sensations — that  gives  to  the  landscape  such 
pictorial  effect  as  a  castle. 


157 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 
PENSHURST* 

BY  WILLIAM  HOWITT 

England,  among  her  titled  families,  can  point 
to  none  more  illustrious  than  that  of  Sidne3^ 
It  is  a  name  which  carries  with  it  the  attesta- 
tion of  its  genuine  nobility.  Othei'S(  are  of 
older  standing  in  the  realm.  It  is  not  one  of 
those  to  be  found  on  the  roll  of  Battle  Abbey. 
The  first  who  bore  it  in  England  is  said  to  have 
come  hither  in  the  reign  of  Henry  III.  There 
are  others,  too,  which  have  mounted  much  higher 
in  the  scale  of  mere  rank;  but  it  may  be  safely 
said  that  there  is  none  of  a  truer  dignity,  nor 
more  endeared  to  the  spirits  of  Englishmen. 

Of  this  distinguished  line,  the  most  illustrious 
and  popular  was  unquestionably  Sir  Philip.  The 
universal  admiration  that  he  won  from  his  con- 
temporaries is  one  of  the  most  curious  circum- 
stances of  the  history  of  those  times.  The  gen- 
erous and  affectionate  enthusiasm  with  which  he 
inspired  both  his  own  countrymen  and  foreign- 
ers, has,  perhaps,  no  parallel.   .    .    . 

The  first  view  which  I  got  of  the  old  house  of 
Penshurst,  called  formerly  both  Penshujst  Place 
and  Penshurst  Castle,  was  as  I  descended  the 
hill  opposite  to  it.  Its  gray  walls  and  turrets, 
and  high-peaked  and  red  roofs  rising  in  the 
midst  of  them;  and  the  new  buildings  of  fresh 
stone,  mingled  with  the  ancient  fabric,  presented 
a  very  striking  and  venerable  aspect. 

It  stands  in  the  midst  of  a  wide  valley,  on  a 

*From  "Visits  to  Remarkable  Places." 
158 


CASTLES  AND  STATELY  HOMES 

pleasant  elevation;  its  woods  and  park  stretch- 
ing away  beyond,  northward;  and  the  pictur- 
esque church,  parsonage,  and  other  houses  of 
the  village,  grouping  in  front.  From  whichever 
side  you  view  the  house,  it  strikes  you  as  a  fitting 
abode  of  the  noble  Sidneys.  Valleys  run  out  on 
every  side  from  the  main  one  in  which  it  stands; 
and  the  hills,  which  are  everywhere  at  some  dis- 
tance, wind  about  in  a  very  pleasant  and  pictur- 
esque manner,  covered  with  mingled  woods  and 
fields,  and  hop-grounds. 

The  house  now  presents  two  principal  fronts. 
The  one  facing  westward,  formerly  looked  into 
a  court,  called  the  President's  Court,  because 
the  greater  part  of  it  was  built  by  Sir  Henry 
Sidne}',  the  father  of  Sir  Philip,  and  Lord 
President  of  the  Council  established  in  the 
Marches  of  Wales.  The  court  is  now  thrown 
open,  and  converted  into  a  lawn  surrounded  by 
a  sunk  fence,  and  overlooking  a  quiet  valley 
of  perhaps  a  mile  in  length,  tenninated  by 
woody  hills  of  great  rural  beauty. 

This  front,  as  well  as  the  northern  one,  is  of 
great  length.  It  is  of  several  dates  and  styles 
of  architecture.  The  facade  is  of  two  stories, 
and  battlemented.  The  center  division,  which 
is  of  recent  erection,  has  large  windows  of 
triple  arches,  with  annorial  shields  between  the 
upper  and  lower  stories.  The  south  end  of  the 
facade  is  of  an  ancient  date,  with  smaller 
mullioned  windows;  the  northern  portion  with 
windoAvs  of  a  similar  character  to  those  in  the 
center,  but  less  and  plainer.  Over  this  i^agade 
shows  itself  the  tall  gable  of  the  ancient  ban- 
queting-hall    which    stands    in    the    inner    court. 

159 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

At  each  end  of  this  fagade  projects  a  wing, 
with  its  various  towers  of  various  bulk  and 
height;  some  square,  of  stone,  others  octagon, 
of  brick,  with  a  great  diversity  of  tall,  worked 
chimneys,  which,  with  steep  roofs,  and  the  mix- 
ture of  brick-work  and  stone-work  all  through 
the  front,  give  a  mottled,  but  yet  very  vener- 
able aspect  to  it. 

The  north  and  principal  front,  facing  up  the 
park,  has  been  restored  by  its  noble  possessor, 
and  presents  a  battlemented  range  of  stone 
buildings  of  various  projections,  towers,  turrets, 
and  turreted  chimneys,  which,  when  the  win- 
dows are  put  in,  which  is  not  yet  fully  done, 
will  have  few  superiors  among  the  castellated 
mansions   of  England.   .    .    . 

In  the  center  of  the  inner  court  stands  the 
old  banqueting-hall,  a  tall  gabled  building  with 
high  red  roof,  surmounted  with  the  ruins  of  a 
cupola,  erected  upon  it  by  Mr.  Perry,  who  mar- 
ried the  heiress  of  the  family,  but  who  does 
not  seem  to  have  brought  much  taste  into  it. 
On  the  point  of  each  gable  is  an  old  stone  fig- 
ure— the  one  a  tortoise,  the  other  a  lion  couch- 
ant — and  upon  the  back  of  each  of  these  old 
figures,  so  completely  accordant  with  the  build- 
ing itself,  which  ex'hibits  under  its  eaves  and 
at  the  corners  of  its  windows  numbers  of  those 
grotesque  corbels  which  distinguish  our  build- 
ings of  an  eai'ly  date,  both  domestic  and  ec- 
clesiastical, good  Mr.  Perry  clapped  a  huge 
leaden  vase  which  had  probably  crowned  afore- 
time the  pillars  of  a  gateway,  or  the  roof  of  a 
garden-house.   .    .    . 

The   south   side   of  the  house   has   all   the   ir- 

160 


CASTLES  AND  STATELY  HOMES 

regularity  of  an  old  castle,  consisting  of  various 
towers,  projections,  buttresses,  and  gables.  Some 
of  the  windows  show  tracery  of  a  superior  or- 
der, and  others  have  huge  common  sashes,  in- 
troduced by  the  tasteful  Mr.  Perry  aforesaid. 
The  court  on  this  side  is  surrounded  by  battle- 
mented  walls,  and  has  a  massy  square  gate- 
house leading  into  the  old  garden,  or  pleasaunce, 
which  sloped  away  down  toward  the  Med  way, 
but  is  now  merely  a  gTassy  lawn,  with  the  re- 
mains of  one  fine  terrace  running  along  its 
Avestern   side.   .    .    . 

The  old  banqueting-hall  is  a  noble  specimen 
of  the  baronial  hall  of  the  reign  of  Edward  III., 
when  both  house  and  table  exhibited  the  rude- 
ness of  a  martial  age,  and  both  gentle  and 
simple  revelled  together,  parted  only  by  the 
salt.  The  floor  is  of  brick.  The  raised  plat- 
form, or  dais,  at  the  west-end,  advances  six- 
teen feet  into  the  room.  The  width  of  the  hall 
is  about  forty  feet,  and  the  lengih  of  it  about 
fifty-four  feet.  On  each  side  are  tall  Gothic 
windows,  much  of  the  tracery  of  which  has 
been  some  time  knocked  out,  and  the  openings 
plastered  up.  At  the  east  end  is  a  fine  large 
window,  with  two  smaller  ones  above  it;  but 
the  large  window  is,  for  the  most  part,  hidden 
bj'  the  front  of  the  music  galler\\ 

In  the  center  of  the  floor  an  octagon  space  is 
marked  out  with  a  rim  of  stone,  and  within 
this  space  stands  a  massy  old  dog,  or  brand- 
iron,  about  a  yard  and  a  half  wide,  and  the 
two  upright  ends  three  feet  six  inches  high, 
having  on  their  outer  sides,  near  the  top,  the 
double  broad  arrow  of  the   Sidney   arms.     The 

I— 11  161 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

smoke  from  the  fire,  which  was  laid  on  this 
jolly  dog,  ascended  and  passed  out  through  the 
center  of  the  roof,  which  is  high,  and  of 
framed  oak,  and  was  adorned  at  the  spring  of 
the  huge  groined  spars  with  grotesque  pro- 
jecting carved  figTires,  or  corbels,  which  are 
now  taken  down,  being  considered  in  danger  of 
falling,  and  are  laid  in  the  music  gallery. 


102 


IV 
ENGLISH  LITERARY  SHRINES 

STRATFORD-ON-AVON* 

BY  WASHINGTON  IRVING 

Thou  soft  flowing  Avon,  by  thy  silver  stream 
Of  things  more  than  mortal  sweet   Shakespeare 

would   dream ; 
The  fairies  by  moonlight  dance  round  his  green 

bed, 
For    hallowed    the    turf    is    which    pillowed    his 

head.  Garrick. 

I  had  come  to  Stratford  on  a  poetical  pil- 
grimage. My  first  visit  was  to  the  house  where 
Shakespeare  was  born,  and  where,  according  to 
tradition,  he  was  broiig'ht  up  to  his  father's 
craft  of  wool-combing.  It  is  a  small,  mean- 
looking  edifice  of  wood  and  plaster,  a  true 
nestling-place  of  genius,  which  seems  to  delight 
in  hatching  its  oii'spring  in  bj-corners.  The 
walls  of  its  squalid  chambers  are  covered  with 
names  and  inscriptions  in  every  language,  by 
pilgrims  of  all  nations,  ranks,  and  conditions, 
from  the  prince  to  the  peasant;  and  present  a 
striking  instance  of  the  spontaneous  and  uni- 
versal homage  of  mankind  to  the  great  poet 
of  nature. 

*From  "The  Sketch  Book."  PubUshed  by  G.  P. 
Putnam's  Sons. 

163 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

The  house  is  shown  by  a  garrulous  old  lady, 
in  a  frosty  red  face,  lighted  up  by  a  cold  blue 
anxious  eye,  and  garnished  with  artificial  locks 
of  flaxen  hair,  curling  from  under  an  exceed- 
ingly dirty  cap.  She  was  peculiarly  assiduous 
in  exhibiting  the  relics  with  which  this,  like  all 
other  celebrated  shrines,  abounds.  There  was 
the  shattered  stock  of  the  very  matchlock  with 
which  Shakespeare  shot  the  deer,  on  his  poach- 
ing exploits.  There,  too,  was  his  tobacco-box; 
which  proves  that  he  was  a  rival  smoker  of 
Sir  Walter  Raleigh;  the  sword  also  with  which 
he  played  Hamlet;  and  the  identical  lantern 
with  which  Friar  Laurence  discovered  Romeo 
and  Juliet  at  the  tomb!  There  w^as  an  ample 
supply  also  of  Shakespeare's  mulberry-tree, 
which  seems  to  have  as  extraordinary  powers 
of  self-multiplication  as  the  wood  of  the  true 
cross;  of  which  there  is  enough  extant  to  build 
a    ship    of   the    line. 

The  most  favorite  object  of  curiosity,  how- 
ever, is  Shakespeare's  chair.  It  stands  in  the 
chimney-nook  of  a  small  gloomy  chamber,  just 
behind  what  was  his  father's  shop.  Here  he 
may  many  a  time  have  sat  when  a  boy,  watch- 
ing the  slowly-revolving  spit,  with  all  the  long- 
ing of  an  urchin ;  or,  of  an  evening,  listening 
to  the  crones  and  gossips  of  Stratford,  dealing 
forth  churchyard  tales  and  legendaiy  anecdotes 
of  the  troublesome  times  in  England.  In  this 
chair  it  is  the  custom  of  everyone  who  visits 
the  house  to  sit:  whether  this  be  done  with  the 
hope  of  imbibing  any  of  the  inspiration  of  the 
bard,  I  am  at  a  loss  to  say;  I  merely  mention 
the    fact;    and    mine    hostess    privately    assured 

164 


ENGLISH  LITERARY    SHRINES 

me  that,  tho  built  of  solid  oak,  such  was  the 
fervent  zeal  of  devotees,  that  the  chair  had  to 
be  new-bottomed  at  least  once  in  three  years. 
From  the  birthplace  of  Shakespeare  a  few 
paces  brought  me  to  his  grave.  .  .  .  We  ap- 
proached the  church  through  the  avenue  of 
limes,  and  entered  by  a  Gothic  porch,  highly 
ornamented  with  carved  doors  of  massive  oak. 
The  interior  is  spacious,  and  the  architecture 
and  embellishments  superior  to  those  of  most 
country  churches.  There  are  several  ancient 
monuments  of  nobility  and  gentry,  over  some 
of  which  hang  funeral  escutcheons,  and  banners 
dropping  piecemeal  from  the  wails.  The  tomb 
of  Shakespeare  is  in  the  chancel.  The  place  is 
solemn  and  sepulchral.  Tall  elms  wave  before 
the  pointed  windows,  and  the  Avon,  which  runs 
at  a  short  distance  from  the  walls,  keeps  up  a 
low  perpetual  murmur.  A  flr.t  stone  marks  the 
spot  where  the  bard  is  buried.  There  are  four 
lines  inscribed  on  it,  said  to  have  been  written 
by  himself,  and  which  have  in  them  something' 
extremely  awful.  If  they  are  indeed  his  own, 
they  show  that  solicitude  about  the  quiet  of 
the  gTave  which  seems  natural  to  line  sensibil- 
ities  and   thoughtful   minds: 

"Good    friend,    for    Jesus'  sake,   forbeare 
To  dig  the  dust  inclosed  here. 
Blessed  be  he  that  spares  these  stones, 
And  curst  be  he  that  moves  my  bones." 

The  inscription  on  the  tombstone  has  not 
been  without  its  effect.  It  has  prevented  the 
removal  of  his  remains  from  the  bosom  of  his 
native  place  to  Westminster  Abbey,   which  was 

165 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

at  one  time  contemplated.  A  few  years  since 
also,  as  some  laborers  were  digging  to  make  an 
adjoining  vault,  the  earth  caved  in,  so  as  to 
leave  a  vacant  space  almost  like  an  arch, 
through  which  one  might  have  reached  into  his 
grave.  No  one,  however,  presumed  to  meddle 
with  the  remains  so  awfully  guarded  by  a  male- 
diction; and  lest  any  of  the  idle  or  the  curious, 
or  any  collector  of  relies,  should  be  tempted  to 
commit  depredations,  the  old  sexton  kept  Avatcli 
over  the  place  for  two  days,  until  the  vault 
was  finished,  and  the  aperture  closed  again. 
He  told  me  that  he  had  made  bold  to  look  in 
at  the  hole,  but  could  see  neither  coffin  nor 
bones;  nothing  but  dust.  It  was  something,  I 
thought,  to  have  seen  the  dust  of  Shakespeare. 

I  had  now  visited  the  usual  objects  of  a 
pilgrim's  devotion,  but  I  had  a  desire  to  see 
the  old  family  seat  of  the  Lucy's  at  Charlecot, 
and  to  ramble  through  the  park  where  Shake- 
speare, in  company  with  some  of  the  roisterers 
of  Stratford,  committed  his  youthful  offense  of 
deer-stealing.  The  old  mansion  of  Charlecot 
and  its  surrounding  park  still  remain  in  the 
possession  of  the  Lucy  family,  and  are  peculiar- 
ly interesting  from  being  connected  with  this 
whimsical  but  eventful  circumstance  in  the 
scanty  history  of  the  bard.  As  the  house  stood 
at  little  more  than  three  miles'  distance  from 
Stratford,  I  resolved  to  pay  it  a  pedestrian 
visit,  that  I  might  stroll  leisurely  through  some 
of  those  scenes  from  whieli  Shakespeare  must 
have  derived  his  earliest  ideas  of  rural  imag- 
ery. 

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ENGLISH  LITERARY   SHRINES 

My  route  for  a  part  of  the  way  lay  in  sight 
of  the  Avon,  which  made  a  variety  of  the  most 
fanciful  doublings  and  windings  through  a  wide 
and  fertile  valley;  sometimes  glittering  from 
among  willows,  which  fringed  its  borders;  some- 
times disappearing  among  groves,  or  beneath 
green  banks;  and  sometimes  rambling  out  into 
full  view,  and  making  an  azure  sweep  around 
a  slope  of  meadow  land.  This  beautiful  bosom 
of  country  is  called  the  Vale  of  the  Red  Horse. 
A  distant  line  of  undulating  blue  hills  seems 
to  be  its  boundary,  while  all  the  soft  interven- 
ing landscape  lies  in  a  manner  enchained  in  the 
silver  links  of  the  Avon. 

After  pursuing  the  road  for  about  three 
miles,  I  turned  off  into  a  foot-path,  Avhich  led 
along  the  borders  of  fields  and  mider  hedge- 
rovvs  to  a  private  gate  of  the  park;  there  was 
a  stile,  however,  for  the  benefit  of  the  pedes- 
trian; there  being  a  public  right  of  way  through 
the  grounds.  I  delight  in  these  hospitable  es- 
tates, in  which  everyone  has  a  kind  of  proper- 
ty— at  least  as  far  as  the  foot-path  is  con- 
cerned. I  now  found  myself  among  noble 
avenues  of  oaks  and  elms,  whose  vast  size 
bespoke  the  growth  of  centuries.  The  wind 
sounded  solemnly  among  their  branches,  and 
the  rooks  cawed  from  their  hereditary  nests 
in  the  tree  tops.  The  eye  ranged  through  a 
long  lessening  vista,  with  nothing  to  interrupt 
the  view  but  a  distant  statue,  and  a  vagrant 
deer  stalking  like  a  shadow  across  the  opening. 

I  had  now  come  in  sight  of  the  house.  It  is 
a  large  building  of  brick,  with  stone  quoins, 
and  is  in  the  Gothic  style  of  Queen  Elizabeth's 

167 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

day,  having  been  built  in  the  first  year  of  her 
reign.  The  exterior  remains  very  nearly  in  its 
original  state,  and  may  be  considered  a  fair 
specimen  of  the  residence  of  a  wealthy  country 
gentleman  of  those  days.  A  gTeat  gateway 
opens  from  the  park  into  a  kind  of  court- 
yard in  front  of  the  house,  ornamented  with  a 
grass-plot,  shrubs,  and  flower-beds.  The  gate- 
way is  in  imitation  of  the  ancient  barbican; 
being  a  kind  of  outpost  and  flanked  by  towers; 
tho  evidently  for  mere  ornament,  instead  of 
defense.  The  front  of  the  house  is  completely 
in  the  old  style;  with  stone  shafted  casements, 
a  great  bow-window  of  heavy  stone  work,  and 
a  portal  with  armorial  bearings  over  it,  carved 
in  stone.  At  each  corner  of  the  building  is  an 
octagon  tower,  surmounted  by  a  gilt  ball  and 
weathercock. 

The  Avon,  which  winds  through  the  park, 
makes  a  bend  just  at  the  foot  of  a  gently 
sloping  bank,  which  sweeps  down  from  the  rear 
of  the  house.  Large  herds  of  deer  were  feed- 
ing or  reposing  upon  its  borders;  and  swans 
were   sailing   majestically   upon   its   bosom. 

After  prowling  about  for  some  time,  I  at 
length  found  my  way  to  a  lateral  portal, 
which  was  the  every-day  entrance  to  the  man- 
sion. I  was  courteously  received  by  a  worthy 
old  housekeeper,  who,  with  the  civility  and 
communicativeness  of  her  order,  showed  me  the 
interior  of  the  house.  The  greater  part  has  un- 
dergone alterations,  and  been  adapted  to  modern 
tastes  and  modes  of  living;  there  is  a  fine  old 
oaken  staircase;  and  the  great  hall,  that  noble 
feature  in  an  ancient  manor-house,  still  retains 

ICS 


ENGLISH  LITERARY    SHRINES 


much  of  the  appearance  it  must  have  had  in 
the  days  of  Shakespeare.  The  ceiling  is  arched 
and  lofty;  and  at  one  end  is  a  gallery,  in  which 
stands  an  organ.  The  weapons  and  trophies  of 
the  chase,  which  formerly  adorned  the  hall  of  a 
countiy  gentleman,  have  made  way  for  family 
portraits.  There  is  a  wide  hospitable  fire-place, 
calculated  for  an  ample  old-fashioned  wood  fire, 
formerly  the  rallying  place  of  winter  festivity. 
On  the  opposite  side  of  the  hall  is  the  huge 
Gothic  bow-window,  with  stone  shafts,  which 
looks  out  upon  the  court-yard.  Here  are  em- 
blazoned in  stained  glass  the  armorial  bearings 
of  the  Lucy  family  for  many  generations,  some 
being  dated  in  1558.    .    .    . 

I  regretted  to  find  that  the  ancient  furniture 
of  the  hall  had  disappeared;  for  I  had  hoped 
to  meet  with  the  stately  elbow-chair  of  carved 
oak,  in  which  the  country  Squire  of  for- 
mer days  was  wont  to  sway  the  scepter  of 
empire  over  his  rural  domains;  and  in  which 
might  be  presumed  the  redoubted  Sir  Thomas 
sat  enthroned  in  awful  state,  when  the  recreant 
Shakespeare  was  brought  before  him.  As  I  like 
to  deck  out  pictures  for  my  entertainment, 
I  pleased  myself  with  the  idea  that  this  very 
hall  had  been  the  scene  of  the  unlucky  bard's 
examination  on  the  morning  after  his  captivity 
in  the  lodge.  I  fancied  to  myself  the  rural 
potentate,  surrounded  by  his  body-guard  of  but- 
ler, pages,  and  the  blue-coated  serving-men  with 
their  badges;  while  the  luckless  culprit  was 
brought  in,  forlorn  and  chapfallen,  in  the  cus- 
tody of  game-keepers,  huntsmen,  and  whippers- 
in,    and   followed   by   a   rabble    rout   of   country 

169 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

clowns.  I  fancied  bright  faces  of  curious  house- 
maids peeping  from  the  half-opened  doors ;  while 
from  the  gallery  the  fair  daughters  of  the 
Knight  leaned  gracefully  forward,  eying  the 
youthful  prisoner  with  that  pity  "that  dwells 
in  womanhood."  Who  would  have  thought  that 
this  poor  varlet,  thus  trembling  before  the 
brief  authority  of  a  country  Squire,  and  the 
sport  of  rustic  boors,  was  soon  to  become  the 
delight  of  princes;  the  theme  of  all  tongues 
and  ages;  the  dictator  to  the  human  mind; 
and  was  to  confer  immortality  on  his  oppres- 
sor by  a  caricature  and  a  lampoon! 

I  now  bade  a  reluctant  farewell  to  the  old 
hall.  My  mind  had  become  so  completely  pos- 
sest  by  the  imaginary  scenes  and  characters 
connected  with  it,  that  I  seemed  to  be  actually 
living  among  them.  Everything  brought  them 
as  it  were  before  my  eyes;  and  as  the  door 
of  the  dining-room  opened,  I  almost  expected  to 
hear  the  feeble  voice  of  Master  Silence  quaver- 
ing forth  his  favorite  ditty: 

''Tis   merry  in   hall,   when   beards   wag  all, 
And  welcome  merry  Shrove-tide!" 

On  returning  to  my  inn,  I  could  not  but  re- 
flect on  the  singular  gift  of  my  poet;  to  be 
able  thus  to  spread  the  magic  of  his  mind  over 
the  very  face  of  nature;  to  give  to  things  and 
places  a  charm  and  character  not  their  own, 
and  to  turn  this  '*Avorking-day  world"  into  a 
perfect  fairy  land.  He  is  indeed  the  true  en- 
chanter, whose  spell  operates,  not  upon  the 
senses,     but     upon     the     imagination     and     the 

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ENGLISH  LITERARY   SHRINES 

heart.  Under  the  wizard  influence  of  Shake- 
speare I  had  been  walking  all  day  in  complete 
delusion.  I  had  surveyed  the  landscape  through 
the  prism  of  poetry,  which  tinged  everj^  object 
with  the  hues  of  the  rainbow.  I  had  been 
surrounded  with  fancied  beings;  with  mere 
airy  nothings,  conjured  up  by  poetic  power; 
yet  which,  to  me,  had  all  the  charm  of  reality. 
I  had  heard  Jacques  soliloquize  beneath  his 
oak;  had  beheld  the  fair  Rosalind  and  her 
companion  adventuring  through  the  woodlands; 
and,  above  all.  had  been  once  more  present  in 
spirit  with  fat  Jack  Falstaff,  and  his  con- 
temporaries, from  the  august  Justice  Shallow 
down  to  the  gentle  Master  Slender,  and  the 
sweet  Anne  Page. 


NEWSTEAD  ABBEY* 

BY   NATHANIEL   HAWTHORNE 

Our  drive  to  Newstead  lay  through  what 
was  once  a  portion  of  Sherwood  Forest,  tho 
all  of  it,  I  believe,  has  now  become  private 
property,  and  is  converted  into  fertile  fields, 
ex'cept    where    the    owners    of    estates    have    set 

out  plantations The  post-boy  calls  the 

distance  ten  miles  from  Nottingham.  He  also 
averred  that  it  was  forbidden  to  drive  visitors 
within  the  gates;  so  we  left  the  fly  at  the 
inn,  and  set  out  to  walk  from  the  entrance  to 

*From  "English  Note  Books."  By  permission  of, 
and  by  arrangement  with,  the  publishers  of  Haw- 
thorne's works,  Houghton,  Mifflin  Ce.  Copyright, 
1870-1808. 

171 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

the  house.  There  is  no  porter's  lodge;  and 
the  grounds,  in  this  outlying  region,  had  not 
the  appearance  of  being  veiy  primly  kept,  but 
were  well  wooded  with  evergreens,  and  much 
overgrown  with  ferns,  serving  for  cover  for  hares, 
which  scampered  in  and  out  of  their  hiding- 
places.  The  road  went  winding  gently  along, 
and,  at  the  distance  of  nearly  a  mile,  brought 
us  to  a  second  gate,  through  which  we  like- 
wise passed,  and  walked  onward  a  good  way 
farther,  seeing  much  wood,  but  as  yet  nothing 
of  the  Abbey. 

At  last,  through  the  trees,  we  caught  a 
glimpse  of  its  battlements,  and  saw,  too,  the 
gleam  of  water,  and  then  appeared  the  Ab- 
bey's venerable  front.  It  comprises  the  wes- 
tern wall  of  the  church,  which  is  all  that 
remains  of  that  fabric,  a  great,  central  Avindow, 
entirely  empty,  without  tracery  or  mullions; 
the  ivy  clambering  up  on  the  inside  of  the 
wall,  and  hanging  over  in  front.  The  front  of 
the  inhabited  part  of  the  house  extends  along 
on  a  line  with  this  church  wall,  rather  Ioav, 
with  battlements  along  its  top,  and  all  in  good 
keeping  Avith  the  ruinous  remnant.  We  met 
a  servant,  who  replied  civilly  to  our  inquiries 
about  the  mode  of  gaining  admittance,  and 
bade  us  ring  a  bell  at  the  corner  of  the  principal 
porch.  We  rang  accordingly,  and  were  forth- 
with admitted  into  a  low,  vaulted  basement, 
ponderously  wrouglit  with  intersecting  arches, 
dark  and  rather  chilly,  just  like  what  I  re- 
member to  have  seen  at  Battle  Abbey; 
and,  after  waiting  here  a  little  while,  a  re- 
spectable elderly  gentlev/oman  appeared,  of  whom 

172 


ENGLISH  LITERARY    SHRINES 

we  requested  to  be  shown  round  the  Abbey. 
She  courteously  acceded,  first  presenting  us  to 
a  book,  in  which  to  inscribe  our  names. 

I  suppose  ten  thousand  people,  three-fourths 
of  them  Americans,  have  written  descriptions 
of  Newstead  Abbey;  and  none  of  them, 
so  far  as  I  have  read,  give  any  true  idea  of 
the  place;  neither  will  my  description,  if  I 
write  one.  In  fact,  I  forget  very  much  that 
I  saw,  and  especially  in  what  order  the  objects 
came.  In  the  basement  was  Byron's  bath — a 
dark  and  cold  and  cellar-like  hole,  which  it 
must  have  required  good  courage  to  plunge 
into;  in  this  region,  too,  or  near  it,  was  the 
chapel,  which  Colonel  Wildman  has  decorously 
fitted  up,  and  where  service  is  now  regularly 
performed,  but  which  was  used  as  a  dogs' 
kennel   in   Byron's   time. 

After  seeing  this,  we  were  led  to  Byron's 
own  bed-chamber,  which  remains  just  as  when 
he  slept  in  it — the  furniture  and  all  the  other 
arrangements  being  religiously  preserved.  It 
was  in  the  plainest  possible  style,  homely, 
indeed,  and  almost  mean — an  ordinary  paper- 
hanging,  and  everything  so  commonplace  that 
it  was  only  the  deep  embrasure  of  the  window 
that  made  it  look  unlike  a  bed-chamber  in  a 
middling-class  lodging-house.  It  would  have 
seemed  difficult,  beforehand,  to  fit  up  a  room 
in  that  picturesque  old  edifice  so  that  it  should 
be  utterly  void  of  picturesqueness ;  but  it 
was  effected  in  this  apartment,  and  I  suppose 
it  is  a  specimen  of  the  way  in  which  old 
mansions  used  to  be  robbed  of  their  antique 
character,    and    adapted    to    modern    tastes,    be- 

173 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

fore  medieval  antiquities  came  into  fashion. 
Some  prints  of  the  Cambridge  colleges,  and 
other  pictures  indicating  Byron's  predilections 
at  the  time,  and  which  he  himself  had  hung 
there,  were  on  the  walls.  This,  the  housekeeper 
told  us,  had  been  the  Abbot's  chamber,  in 
the  monastic  time.  Adjoining  it  is  the  haunted 
room,  where  the  ghostly  monk  whom  Byron  in- 
troduces into  ''Don  Juan,"  is  said  to  have 
his  lurking-place.  It  is  fitted  up  in  the  same 
style  as  Byron's,  and  used  to  be  occupied  by 
his  valet  or  page.  No  doubt,  in  his  lordship's 
day,  these  were  the  only  comfortable  bedrooms 
in  the  Abbey;  and  by  the  housekeeper's  ac- 
count of  what  Colonel  Wildman  has  done,  it 
is  to  be  inferred  that  the  place  must  have 
been  in  a  most  wild,  shaggy,  tumble-down  con- 
dition, inside  and  out,  when  he  bought  it. 

It  is  very  different  now.  After  showing  us 
these  two  apartments  of  Byron  and  his  ser- 
vant, the  housekeeper  led  us  from  one  to 
another  and  another  magnificent  chamber,  fitted 
up  in  antique  style,  with  oak  paneling,  and 
lieavily  carved  bedsteads,  of  Queen  Elizabeth's 
time,  or  of  the  Stuarts,  hung  with  rich 
tapestry  curtains  of  similar  date,  and  with 
beautiful  old  cabinets  of  carved  wood,  sculp- 
tured in  relief,  or  tortoise-shell  and  ivory. 
The  very  pictures  and  realities,  these  rooms 
were,  of  stately  comfort ;  and  they  were 
called  by  the  names  of  kings — King  Edward's, 
King  Charles  II.'s,  King  Henry  VII.'s,  chamber; 
and  they  were  hung  with  beautiful  pictures, 
many  of  them  portraits  of  these  kings.  The 
chimney-pieces    were    carved    and    emblazoned; 

174 


ENGLISH  LITERARY   SHRINES 

and  all,  so  far  as  I  could  judge,  was  in  per- 
fect keeping,  so  that  if  a  prince  or  noble  of 
three  centuries  ago  were  to  come  to  lodge  at 
Newstead  Abbey,  he  would  hardly  know 
that  he  had  strayed  out  of  his  own  century. 
And  yet  he  might  have  known  by  some  token, 
for  there  are  volumes  of  poetry  and  light  liter- 
ature on  the  tables  in  these  royal  bed-chambers, 
and  in  that  of  Henrv  VII.  I  saw  "The  House  of 
the  Seven  Gables,"  and  "The  Scarlet  Letter,"  in 
Routledge's  edition. 

Certainly  the  house  is  admirably  fitted  up; 
and  there  must  have  been  something  very  ex- 
cellent and  comprehensive  in  the  domestic  ar- 
rangements of  the  monks,  since  they  adapt 
themselves  so  well  to  a  state  of  society  entirely 
different  from  that  in  which  they  originated. 
The  library  is  a  very  comfortable  room,  and 
provocative  of  studious  ideas,  tho  lounging 
and  luxurious.  It  is  long,  and  rather  low, 
furnished  with  soft  couches,  and,  on  the  whole, 
tho  a  man  might  dream  of  study,  I  think 
he  would  be  most  likely  to  read  nothing  but 
novels  there.  I  know  not  what  the  room  was 
in  monkish  times,  but  it  was  waste  and  ruinous 
in  Lord  Byron's.  Here,  I  think,  the  house- 
keeper unlocked  a  beautiful  cabinet,  and  took 
out  the  famous  skull  which  Lord  Byron  trans- 
formed into  a  drinking-goblet.  It  has  a  silver 
rim  and  stand,  but  still  the  ugly  skull  is 
bare  and  evident,  and  the  naked  inner  bone 
receives  the  wine. 

There  was  much  more  to  see  in  the  house 
than  I  had  any  previous  notion  of;  but  except 
the     two     chambers     already     noticed,     nothing 

175 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

remained  the  least  as  Byron  left  it.  Yes,  an- 
other place  there  was — his  own  small  dining- 
room,  with  a  table  of  moderate  size,  where,  no 
doubt,  the  skull-goblet  has  often  gone  its 
rounds.  Colonel  Wildman's  dining-room  was 
once  Byron's  shooting-gallery,  and  the  original 
refectory  of  the  monks.  It  is  now  magnifi- 
cently arranged,  Avith  a  vaulted  roof,  a  music- 
gallery  at  one  end,  suits  of  armor  and  weapons 
on  the  walls,  and  mailed  arms  extended, 
holding  candelabras. 

We  parted  with  the  housekeeper,  and  I  with 
a  good  many  shillings,  at  the  door  by  which 
we  entered;  and  our  next  business  was  to 
see  the  private  grounds  and  gardens.  A  little 
boy  attended  us  through  the  first  part  of  our 
progress,  but  soon  appeared  the  veritable 
gardener — a  shrewd  and  sensible  old  man,  who 
has  been  very  many  years  on  the  place. 
There  was  nothing  of  special  interest  as  con- 
cerning Byron  until  we  entered  the  original 
old  monkish  garden,  which  is  still  laid  out  in 
the  same  fashion  as  the  monks  left  it,  with 
a  large  oblong  piece  of  water  in  the  center, 
and  teiTaced  banks  rising  at  two  or  three 
different  stages  with  perfect  regularity  around 
it;  so  that  the  sheet  of  water  looks  like  the 
plate  of  an  immense  looking-glass,  of  which 
the  terraces  form  the  frame.  It  seems  as 
if,  were  there  any  giant  large  enough,  he 
might  raise   up   this  mirror  and   set   it   on   end. 

In  the  monks'  garden,  there  is  a  marble 
statue  of  Pan,  which  the  gardener  told  us, 
was  brought  by  the  "Wicked  Lord"  (great- 
uncle    of    Byron)     from    Italy,    and    was    sup- 

17G 


ENGLISH  LITERARY    SHRINES 

posed  by  the  country  people  to  represent  the 
devil,  and  to  be  the  object  of  his  worship — 
a  natural  idea  enough,  in  view  of  his  horns 
and  cloven  feet  and  tail,  tho  this  indicates 
at  all  events,  a  very  jolly  devil.  There  is  also 
a  female  statue,  beautiful  from  the  waist  up- 
ward, but  shaggy  and  cloven-footed  below, 
and  holding  a  little  cloven-footed  child  by  the 
band.  This,  the  old  gardener  assured  us  was 
Pandora,  wife  of  the  above-mentioned  Pan, 
with  her  son.  Xot  far  from  this  spot,  we 
came  to  the  tree  on  which  Byron  carved  his 
own  name  and  that  of  his  sister  Augusta. 
It  is  a  tree  of  twin  stems, — a  birch-tree,  I 
think — growing  up  side  by  side.  One  of  the 
stems  still  lives  and  flourished,  but  that  on 
which  he  carved  the  two  names  is  quite  dead, 
as  if  there  had  been  something  fatal  in  the  in- 
scription that  has  made  it  for  ever  famous. 
The  names  are  still  very  legible,  altho 
the  letters  had  been  closed  up  by  the  growth 
of  the  bark  before  the  tree  died.  They  must 
have  been   deeply  cut   at   first. 

There  are  old  j-ew-trees  of  unknown  an- 
tiquity in  this  garden,  and  many  other  inter- 
esting things;  and  among  them  may  be 
reckoned  a  fountain  of  very  pure  water,  called 
the  ''Holly  WeU,"  of  which  we  drank.  There 
are  several  fountains,  besides  the  large  mirror 
in  the  center  of  the  garden;  and  these  are 
mostly  inhabited  by  carp,  the  genuine  de- 
scendants of  those  which  peopled  the  fish- 
ponds in  the  days  of  the  monks.  Coming  in 
front  of  the  Abbey,  the  gardener  showed  us 
the    oak    that    Byron    planted,    now    a    vigorous 

1—12  177 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

young  tree;  and  the  monument  which  he 
erected  to  his  Newfoundland  dog,  and  which 
is  larger  than  most  Christians  get,  being 
composed  of  a  marble,  altar-shaped  tomb,  sur- 
rounded by  a  circular  area  of  steps,  as  much 
as  twenty  feet  in  diameter.  The  gardener 
said,  however,  that  Byron  intended  this,  not 
merely  as  the  burial-place  of  his  dog,  but  for 
himself,  too,  and  his  sister. 


HUCKNALL-TORKARD  CHURCH* 
[Byron's  Grave] 

BY    WILLIAM    WINTER 

It  was  near  the  close  of  a  fragrant,  golden 
summer  day  when,  having  driven  from  Not- 
tingham, I  alighted  in  the  market-place  of  the  little 
town  of  Hucknall-Torkard,  on  a  pilgrimage  to 
the  grave  of  Byron.  The  town  is  modern  and 
commonplace  in  appearance, — a  straggling  collec- 
tion of  low  brick  dwellings,  mostly  occupied  by 
colliers.  On  that  day  it  appeared  at  its  worst;  for 
the  widest  part  of  its  main  street  was  filled  with 
stalls,  benches,  wagons,  and  canvas-covered  struc- 
tures for  the  display  of  vegetables  and  other  com- 
modities, which  were  thus  offered  for  sale,  and  it 
was  thronged  with  rough,  noisy,  dirty  persons,  in- 
tent on  barter  and  traffic,  and  not  indisposed  to 
boisterous  pranks  and  mirth,  as  they  pushed  and 

♦From  "Gray  Days  and  Gold."  By  permission  of, 
and  by  arrangement  with,  the  publishers,  Moffat, 
Yard  &  Co.     Copyright  by  William  Winter,  1890-1911. 

178 


ENGLISH  LITERARY   SHRINES 

jostled  each  other  among  the  crowded  booths.  This 
main  street  terminates  at  the  wall  of  the  graveyard 
in  which  stands  the  little  gray  church  wherein 
Byron  was  buried.  There  is  an  iron  gate  in  the 
center  of  the  wall,  and  in  order  to  reach  this  it 
was  necessaiy  to  thread  the  mazes  of  the  market- 
place, and  to  push  aside  the  canvas  flaps  of  a  ped- 
ler's  stall  which  had  been  placed  close  against  it. 
Next  to  the  churchyard  wall  is  a  little  cottage,  with 
a  bit  of  garden,  devoted,  at  that  time,  to  potatoes ; 
and  there,  while  waiting  for  the  sexton,  I  talked 
with  an  aged  man,  who  said  that  he  re- 
membered, as  an  eye-witness,  the  funeral  of  Byron. 
He  stated  his  age  and  said  that  his  name  was 
William  Callandyne.  Pointing  to  the  church,  he 
indicated  the  place  of  the  Byron  vault.  "I  was 
the  last  man,"  he  said,  "that  went  down  into  it 
before  he  was  buried  there.  I  was  a  yoimg  fellow 
then,  and  curious  to  see  what  was  going  on.  The 
place  was  full  of  skulls  and  bones.  I  wish  you 
could  see  my  son;  he's  a  clever  lad,  only  he  ought 
to  have  more  of  the  suaviter  in  modo."  Thus,  with 
the  garrulity  of  wandering  age,  he  prattled  on,  but 
his  mind  was  clear  and  his  memory  tenacious  and 
positive.  There  is  a  good  prospect  from  the  region 
of  Hucknall-Torkard  Church,  and  pointing  into  the 
distance,  when  his  mind  had  been  brought  back 
to  the  subject  of  Byron,  my  aged  interlocutor 
described,  with  minute  specification  of  road  and 
lane, — seeming  to  assume  that  the  names  and  the 
turnings  were  familiar  to  me, — the  course  of  the 
funeral  train  from  Nottingham  to  the  church. 
"There  were  eleven  carriages,"  he  said.  "They 
didn't  go  to  the  Abbey"  (meaning  Newstead),  "but 
came    directly    here.      There    were    many    people 

179 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

to  look  at  them.  I  remember  all  about  it,  and 
I'm  an  old  man — eighty-two.  You're  an  Italian, 
I  should  say,"  he  added.  By  this  time  the  sexton 
had  come  and  unlocked  the  gate,  and  parting  from 
Mr.  Callandyne  we  presently  made  our  way  into 
the  Church  of  St.  James,  locking  the  churchyard 
gate  to  exclude  rough  and  possibly  mischievous 
followers.  A  strange  and  sad  contrast,  I  thought, 
between  this  coarse,  turbulent  place,  by  a  malign 
destiny  ordained  for  the  grave  of  Byron,  and  that 
peaceful,  lovely,  majestic  church  and  precinct  at 
Stratford-upon-Avon  which  enshrine  the  dust  of 
Shakespeare.   .    .    . 

The  sexton  of  the  Church  of  St.  James  and  the 
parish  clerk  of  Hucknall-Torkard  was  Mr.  John 
Brown,  and  a  man  of  sympathetic  intelligence, 
kind  heart,  and  interesting  character  I  found  him 
to  be, — large,  dark,  stalwart,  but  gentle  alike  in 
manner  and  feeling,  and  considerate  of  his  visitor. 
The  pilgrim  to  the  literary  shrines  of  England 
does  not  always  find  the  neighboring  inhabitants 
either  sympathetic  with  his  reverence  or  conscious 
of  especial  sanctity  or  interest  appertaining  to  the 
relics  which  they  possess;  but  honest,  manly  John 
Brown  of  Hucknall-Torkard  understood  both  the 
hallowing  charm  of  the  place  and  the  sentiment, 
not  to  say  the  profound  emotion,  of  the  traveler 
who  now  beheld  for  the  first  time  the  tomb  of 
Byron.  The  church  has  been  considerably  altered 
since  Byron  was  buried  in  it,  1824,  yet  it  retains 
its  fundamental  structure  and  its  ancient  peculiar- 
ities. The  tower,  a  fine  specimen  of  Norman  archi- 
tecture, dark,  rugged,  and  grim,  gives  indication  of 
great  age.  It  is  of  a  kind  often  met  with  in 
ancient  English  towns;  you  can  see  its  brothers 

180 


ENGLISH  LITERARY   SHRINES 

at  York,  Shrewsbury,  Canterbury,  Worcester, 
Warwick,  and  in  many  places  sprinkled  over  the 
northern  heights  of  London;  but  amid  its  tame 
surroundings  in  this  little  colliery  settlement  it 
looms  with  a  peculiar  frowning  majesty,  a  certain 
bleak  loneliness,  both  unique  and  impressive.  The 
edifice  is  of  the  customary  crucial  form, — a  low 
stone  structure,  having  a  peaked  roof,  which  is 
supported  by  four  great  pillars  on  each  side  of 
the  center  aisle.  The  ceiling,  which  is  made  of 
heavy  timbers,  forms  almost  a  true  arch  above 
the  nave.  There  are  four  large  windows  on  each 
side  of  the  nave,  and  two  on  each  side  of  the 
chancel,  which  is  beneath  a  roof  somewhat  lower 
than  that  of  the  main  building.  Under  the  pave- 
ment of  the  chancel,  and  back  of  the  altar  rail, — 
at  which  it  was  my  privilege  to  kneel  while  gazing 
upon  this  sacred  spot, — is  the  grave  of  Byron.  .  .  . 
Nothing  is  written  on  the  stone  that  covers  his 
sepulcher  except  the  simple  name  of  byron  with 
the  dates  of  his  birth  and  death,  in  brass  letters,, 
suiTounded  by  a  wreath  of  leaves  in  brass,  the 
gift  of  the  King  of  Greece;  and  never  did  a  name 
seem  more  stately  or  a  place  more  hallowed.  The- 
dust  of  the  poet  reposes  between  that  of  his 
mother  on  his  right  hand,  and  that  of  his  Ada, — 
"sole  daughter  of  my  house  and  heart,'^ — on  his 
left.  The  mother  died  on  August  1,  1811;  the 
daughter,  who  had  by  marriage  become  the  Coun- 
tess of  Lovelace,  in  1852.  "I  buried  her  with 
my  own  hands,"  said  the  sexton,  John  Brown, 
when,  after  a  little  time,  he  rejoined  me  at  the 
altar-rail.  "I  told  them  exactly  where  he  was  laid 
when  they  wanted  to  put  that  brass  on  the  stone; 
I  remembered  it  well,  for  I  lowered  the  coffin  of 

181 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

the  Countess  of  Lovelace  into  this  vault,  and  laid 
her  by  her  father's  side."  And  when  presently  we 
went  into  the  vestry,  he  produced  the  Register  of 
Burials  and  displayed  the  record  of  that  interment 
in  the  following  words :  "1852.  Died  at  69  Cum- 
berland PL  London,  Buried  December  3.  Aged 
thirty-six. — Curtis  Jackson."  The  Byrons  were  a 
short-lived  race.  The  poet  himself  had  just  turned 
thirty-six;  his  mother  was  only  forty-six  when  she 
passed  away.  This  name  of  Curtis  Jackson  in 
the  register  was  that  of  the  rector  or  curate  then 
incumbent  but  now  departed.  .    .    . 

A  book  has  been  kept  for  many  years,  at  the 
church  of  Hucknall-Torkard,  in  which  visitors  de- 
siring to  do  so,  can  write  their  names.  The  first 
book  provided  for  this  purpose  was  an  album  given 
to  the  church  by  the  poet,  Sir  John  Bowring, 
and  in  that  there  was  a  record  of  visita- 
tions during  the  years  from  1825  to  1834. 
.  .  .  The  catalog  of  pilgrims  to  the  grave 
of  Byron  during  the  last  eighty  years  is  not  a 
long  one.  The  votaries  of  that  poet  are  far  less 
numerous  than  those  of  Shakespeare.  Custom  has 
made  the  visit  to  Stratford  "a  property  of  easi- 
ness," and  Shakespeare  is  a  safe  no  less  than  a 
rightful  object  of  worship.  The  visit  to  Hucknall- 
Torkard  is  neither  as  easy  nor  as  agreeable. 
Torkard  is  neither  as  easy  nor  as  agreeable.  .  .  . 
On  the  capital  of  a  column  near  Byron's  tomb  I 
saw  two  moldering  wreaths  of  laurel,  wliich  had 
liung  there  for  several  years;  one  brought  by  the 
Bishop  of  Noi-wich,  the  other  by  the  American 
poet  Joaquin  Miller.  It  was  good  to  see  them,  and 
especially  to  see  them  beside  the  tablet  of  white 
marble  which  was  placed  on  that  church  wall  to 

182 


ENGLISH  LITERARY   SHRINES 

commemorate  the  poet,  and  to  be  her  witness  in 
death,  by  his  loving  and  beloved  sister  Augusta 
Mary  Leigh, — a  name  that  is  the  synonym  of  noble 
fidelity,  a  name  that  cruel  detraction  and  hideous 
calumny  have  done  their  worst  to  tarnish.  That 
tablet  names  him  "The  Author  of  Childe  Harold's 
Pilgrimage,"  and  if  the  conviction  of  thoughtful 
men  and  women  throughout  the  world  can  be  ac- 
cepted as  an  authority,  no  name  in  the  long  annals 
of  English  literature  is  more  certain  of  immortal- 
ity than  the  name  of  Byron.  His  reputation  can 
afford  the  absence  of  all  memorial  to  him  in  West- 
minster Abbey, — can  endure  it,  perhaps,  better 
than  the  English  nation  can, — and  it  can  endure 
the  neglect  and  censure  of  the  precinct  of  Notting- 
ham. That  city  rejoices  in  many  interesting  asso- 
ciations, but  all  that  really  hallows  it  for  the 
stranger  is  its  association  with  the  name  of  Byron. 
The  stranger  will  look  in  vain,  however,  for  anj'' 
adequate  sign  of  his  former  connection  with  that 
place.  It  is  difficult  even  to  find  prints  or  photo- 
graphs of  the  Byron  shrine,  in  the  shops  of  Not- 
tingham.* 

♦Since  this  paper  was  written  the  buildings  tliat 
flanked  the  front  wall  of  Hucknall-Torkard  church  • 
yard  have  been  removed,  the  street  in  front  of  it  has 
been  widened,  and  the  church  has  been  "restored" 
and  considerably  altered. — Author's  note  to  the  Editor. 


183 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 
DR.  JOHNSON'S  BIRTHPLACE* 

BY  NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE 

Seeking  for  Dr.  Johnson's  birthplace,  I  found 
it  in  St.  Mary's  Square  (Lichfield),  which  is 
not  so  much  a  square  as  the  mere  widening 
of  a  street.  The  house  is  tall  and  thin,  of 
three  stories,  with  a  square  front  and  a  roof 
rising  steep  and  high.  On  a  side-view,  the 
huilding  looks  as  if  it  had  been  cut  in  two  in 
the  midst,  there  being  no  slope  of  the  roof  on 
that  side.  A  ladder  slanted  against  the  wall, 
and  a  painter  was  giving  a  livelier  hue  to  the 
plaster.  In  a  corner-room  of  the  basement, 
where  old  Michael  Johnson  may  be  supposed  to 
have  sold  books,  is  now  what  we  should  call 
5,  dry-goods  store,  or,  according  to  the  English 
phrase,   a   mercer's   and  haberdasher's   shop. 

The  house  has  a  private  entrance  on  a  cross- 
street,  the  door  being  accessible  by  several  much 
worn  stone-steps,  which  are  bordered  by  an 
iron  balustrade.  I  set  my  foot  on  the  steps 
and  laid  my  hand  on  the  balustrade,  where 
Johnson's  hand  and  foot  must  many  a  time 
have  been,  and  ascending  to  the  door,  I  knocked 
once,  and  again,  and  again,  and  got  no  ad- 
mittance. Going  round  to  the  shop-entrance, 
I  tried  to  open  it,  but  found  it  as  fast  bolted 
as  the  gate  of  Paradise.  It  is  mortifying  to  be 
so  balked  in  one's  little  enthusiasms;  but  look- 
ing   round    in    quest    of    somebody    to     make 

•From  "Our  Old  Home."  Published  by  Houghton, 
Mifllin  Co. 

184 


ENGLISH  LITERARY    SHRINES 

inquiries  of,  I  was  a  good  deal  consoled  by 
the  sight  of  Dr.  Johnson  himself,  who  hap- 
pened, just  at  that  moment,  to  be  sitting  at 
his  ease  nearly  in  the  middle  of  St.  Mary's 
Square,  with  his  face  turned  toward  his  father's 
house. 

Of  course,  it  being  almost  fourscore  years 
since  the  doctor  laid  aside  his  weary  bulk  of 
flesh,  together  with  the  ponderous  melancholy 
that  had  so  long  weighed  him  down — the  in- 
telligent reader  will  at  once  comprehend  that 
he  was  marble  in  his  substance,  and  seated  in 
a  marble  chair,  on  an  elevated  stone-pedestal. 
In  short,  it  was  a  statue,  sculptured  by  Lucas, 
and  placed  here  in  1838,  at  the  expense  of  Dr. 
Law,    the    reverend    chancellor    of    the    Diocese. 

The  figure  is  colossal  (tho  perhaps  not 
much  more  so  than  the  mountainous  doctor 
himself)  and  looks  down  upon  the  spectator 
from  its  pedestal  of  ten  or  twelve  feet  high, 
with  a  broad  and  heavy  benignity  of  aspect, 
very  like  in  feature  to  Sir  Joshua  Reynold's 
portrait  of  Johnson,  but  calmer  and  sweeter  in 
expression.  Several  big  books  are  piled  up 
beneath  his  chair,  and,  if  I  mistake  not,  he 
holds  a  volume  in  his  hand,  thus  blinking  forth 
at  the  world  out  of  his  learned  abstraction, 
owl-like,  5^et  benevolent  at  heart.  The  statue 
is  immensely  massive,  a  vast  ponderosity  of 
stone,  not  finely  spiritualized,  nor  indeed,  fully 
humanized,  but  rather  resembling  a  great  stone- 
boulder  than  a  man.  You  must  look  with  the 
eyes  of  faith  and  sympathy,  or  possibly,  you 
might  lose  the  human  being  altogether,  and  find 
only    a    big    stone    within    your    mental    grasp. 

185 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

On  the  pedestal  are  three  bas-reliefs.  In  the 
first,  Johnson  is  represented  as  hardly  more 
than  a  baby,  bestriding  an  old  man's  shoulders, 
resting  his  chin  on  the  bald  head  which  he 
embraces  with  his  little  arms,  and  listening 
earnestly  to  the  high-church  eloquence  of  Dr. 
Sacheverell.  In  the  second  tablet,  he  is  seen 
riding  to  school  on  the  shoulders  of  two  of  his 
comrades,  while  another  boy  supports  him  in 
the  rear. 

The  third  bas-relief  possesses,  to  my  mind, 
a  great  deal  of  pathos,  to  which  my  apprecia- 
tive faculty  is  probably  the  more  alive,  because 
I  have  always  been  profoundly  imprest  by 
the  incident  here  commemorated,  and  long  ago 
tried  to  tell  it  for  the  behoof  of  childish 
readers.  It  shows  Johnson  in  the  market-place 
of  Uttoxeter,  doing  penance  for  an  act  of  dis- 
obedience to  his  father,  committed,  fifty  years 
before.  He  stands  bare-headed,  a  venerable  fig- 
ure, and  a  countenance  ex'tremely  sad  and  wo- 
begone,  with  the  wind  and  rain  driving  hard 
against  him,  and  thus  helping  to  suggest  to  the 
spectator  the  gloom  of  his  inward  state.  Some 
market-people  and  children  gaze  awe-stricken 
into  his  face,  and  an  aged  man  and  woman, 
with  elapsed  and  uplifted  hands,  seem  to  be 
praying  for  him.  These  latter  personages 
(whose  introduction  by  the  artist  is  none  the 
less  effective,  because,  in  queer  proximity,  there 
are  some  commodities  of  market-day  in  the 
shape  of  living  ducks  and  dead  poultry,)  I 
interpreted  to  represent  the  spirits  of  Johnson's 
father  and  mother,  lending  what  aid  they  could 
to  lighten  his  half-century's  burden  of  remorse. 

186 


ENGLISH  LITERARY   SHRINES 

I  had  never  heard  of  the  above-described 
piece  of  sculpture  before;  it  appears  to  have 
no  reputation  as  a  work  of  art,  nor  am  I  at  all 
positive  that  it  deserves  any.  For  me,  however, 
it  did  as  much  as  sculpture  could  under  the 
circumstances,  even  if  the  artist  of  the  Libyan 
Sibyl  had  wrought  it,  by  reviving  my  interest 
in  the  sturdy  old  Englishman,  and  particularly 
by  freshening  my  perception  of  a  wonderful 
beauty  and  pathetic  tenderness  in  the  incident 
of  the  penance. 

The  next  day  I  left  Lichfield  for  Uttox- 
eter,  on  one  of  the  few  purely  sentimental 
pilgrimages  that  I  ever  undertook,  to  see  the 
very  spot  where  Johnson  had  stood.  Boswell, 
I  think,  speaks  of  the  town  (its  name  is  pro- 
nounced Yuteox:eter)  as  being  about  nine  miles 
off  from  Lichfield,  but  the  county-map  would 
indicate  a  greater  distance;  and  by  rail,  passing 
from  one  line  to  another,  it  is  as  much  as 
eighteen  miles.  I  have  always  had  an  idea  of 
old  Michael  Johnson  sending  his  literay  mer- 
chandise by  carrier's  wagon,  journeying  to  Ut- 
toxeter  afoot  on  market-day  morning,  selling 
'^books''  through  the  busy  hours,  and  return- 
ing to  Lichfield  at  night.  This  could  not  pos- 
sibly have  been  the  case. 

Arriving  at  the  Uttoxeter  station,  the  first  ob- 
jects that  I  saw,  with  a  green  field  or  two  between 
them  and  me,  were  the  tower  and  gray  steeple 
of  a  church,  rising  among  red-tiled  roofs  and 
a  few  scattered  trees.  A  very  short  walk  takes 
you  from  the  station  up  into  the  town.  It 
had  been  my  previous  impression  that  the  mar- 
ket-place   of    Uttoxeter    lay    immediately    round 

187 


SEEING  EUROPE  WITH  FAMOUS  AUTHORS 

about  the  church;  and,  if  I  remember  the  nar- 
rative aright,  Johnson,  or  Boswell  in  his  behalf, 
describes  his  father's  book-stall  as  standing  in 
the  market-place  close  beside  the  sacred  edifice. 
It  is  impossible  for  me  to  say  what  changes 
may  have  occurred  in  the  topography  of  the 
town,  during  almost  a  centuiy  and  a  half  since 
Michael  Johnson  retired  from  business,  and 
ninety  years,  at  least,  since  his  son's  penance 
was  performed.  But  the  church  has  now  merely 
a  street  of  ordinary  width  passing  around  it, 
while  the  market-place,  tho  near  at  hand, 
neither  forms  a  part  of  it  nor  is  really  con- 
tiguous, nor  would  its  throng  and  bustle  he  apt 
to  overflow  their  boundaries  and  surge  against 
the  churchyard  and  the  old  gi'ay  tower.  Never- 
theless, a  walk  of  a  minute  or  two  brings  a 
person  from  the  center  of  the  market-place  to 
the  church-door;  and  Michael  Johnson  might 
very  conveniently  have  located  his  stall  and  laid 
out  his  literary  ware  in  the  corner  at  the  tower's 
base;  better  there,  indeed,  than  in  the  busy 
center  of  an  agricultural  market.  But  the  pic- 
turesque arrangement  and  full  impressiveness  of 
the  story  absolutely  require  that  Johnson  shall 
not  have  done  his  penance  in  a  corner,  ever  so 
little  retired,  but  shall  have  been  the  very 
nucleus  of  the  crowd — the  midmost  man  of 
the  market-place — a  central  image  of  Memory 
and  Remorse,  contrasting  with  and  overpower- 
ing the  petty  materialism  around  him.  He 
himself,  having  the  force  to  throw  vitality  and 
truth  into  what  persons  differently  constituted 
might  reckon  a  mere  external  ceremony,  and  an 
absurd  one,  would  not  have  failed  to  see  this 

188 


ENGLISH  LITERARY    SHRINES 


necessity.  I  am  resolved,  therefore,  that  the 
true  site  of  Dr.  Johnson's  penance  was  in  the 
middle  of  the  market-place. 

How  strange  and  stupid  it  is  that  tradition 
should  not  have  marked  and  kept  in  mind  the 
very  place!  How  shameful  (nothing  less  than 
that)  that  there  should  be  no  local  memorial  of 
this  incident,  as  beautiful  and  touching  a  pas- 
sage as  can  be  cited  out  of  any  human  life! 
No  inscription  of  it,  almost  as  sacred  as  a 
verse  of  Scripture  on  the  wall  of  the  church! 
No  statue  of  the  venerable  and  illustrious 
penitent  in  the  market-place  to  throw  a  whole- 
some awe  over  its  earthliness,  its  frauds  and 
petty  wrongs  of  which  the  benumbed  fingers  of 
conscience  can  make  no  record,  its  selfish  com- 
petition of  each  man  with  his  brother  or  his 
neighbor,  its  traffic  of  soul-substance  for  a  little 
worldly  gain!  Such  a  statue,  if  the  piety  of 
the  people  did  not  raise  it,  might  almost  have 
been  expected  to  grow  up  out  of  the  pavement 
of  its  own  accord  on  the  spot  that  had  been 
watered  by  the  rain  that  dript  from  John- 
son's garments,  mingled  with  his  remorseful 
tears. 


189 


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